A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: One
by BuckeyeBelle
Summary: The war is over ... at least the fighting's mostly done.  Optimus and his crew begin the next part of their lives, with some unexpected help.
1. Chapter 1

A Year in the Life of Optimus Prime: One

By Buckeye Belle, with Vivienne Grainger

Part 1

(A.N. Transformers belongs to Hasbro and whoever they have allowed the rights to it, which certainly doesn't include me. No money has been made from this fanfic and no copyright infringement is intended. All I own are my OCs.

This story contains religious and spiritual discussion. Those who wish not to be exposed to religions other than their own should turn back now.

This is the third story in The Sidhe Chronicles series. Previous stories are "Swords and Jewels" and "The Sidhe Chronicles 2: Dark of the Moon." This is a separate AU from the "Come on up for the Rising" verse.

"Normal speech"

::Silent speech (Internal radio or through a bond)::

Scene Break: -Sidhe Chronicles-

Thanks to my beta, Vivienne Grainger. In the process of beta-reading this story, she pointed out some amazing similarities to her story, "When This Cruel War Is Over." I had not read it previously so technically I can't even credit her for the idea, but it was published first so I feel I have to say something. Go read it for yourself. The _same character_ is even involved, and it's a great story. Any remaining mistakes are mine. /A.N.)

A little order was beginning to establish itself half an hour after the Battle of Chicago, as NEST commandeered the lobby of a hotel and the gravel lot of a construction site next door.

Diarwen watched Will and Betony's reunion for a moment. At a distance, Sam and Carly laughed for joy and kidded around with Bumblebee about whether they were really engaged.

Elsewhere the mood was more somber. She saw wounded everywhere, bots and humans alike. Of all the NEST team, only six besides Lennox had survived, and the remaining SEALS were with them in a hotel lobby. Epps had seven left, four of them those who had gone to the stadium with her.

Betony's trucker friend Jaime was there with her and Jordan, their bandmate.

The Sidhe walked to the river's edge, aching in every muscle and joint. She looked over the railing and realized there were two stories of hotel rooms below street level, looking out over the river. A sidewalk shaded by a row of landscaped trees ran in front of the ground floor rooms, which had patio doors opening onto the walkway. This sidewalk was only a few feet above the water.

Diarwen found a narrow stairway leading down, littered with debris, and carefully followed it to the water's edge.

She stopped at the railing and looked into the slowly swirling current. It reminded her of images from the tsunamis in Indonesia and Japan, albeit on a much smaller scale. The water was thick with flotsam and jetsam from the collapsed buildings. Cardboard boxes, chair cushions, plastic jugs, and reams of paper floated by. In the distance, the hull of a crashed Decepticon carrier broke the surface. She wondered about the wisdom of leaving that there—but what they were going to do about it was beyond her at the moment. If a Decepticon came out of it right now, may his god help him.

There was a splash, and a gleam of reflected light just below the surface. She scowled, and looked closer. That was no fish, but a Cybertronian!

She drew her sword; if it was a 'Con he was in for the surprise of his life. But then she recognized the colors of the little mech struggling to swim while towing another small bot. "Ay, someone! Help, down here!" she shouted, sheathing the weapon. "Wheelie! This way!"

With feverish haste, she pulled off her jacket, chain shirt and gambeson, and yanked off her boots. Then she vaulted the railing and splashed into the filthy water.

Like all Cybertronians without a water-going alt, Wheelie stayed afloat and maneuvered in water by transforming water jets. He was laboring under his brother's weight, and Diarwen was afraid at first that Brains was offline, but she could still see an aura. She swam to them, and took from Wheelie his unconscious brother.

It looked a lot further up to the sidewalk from the water's surface than it had when she jumped in, and the riverbank here was a blank concrete wall. Were she alone, she would have swum to a boat access, but clearly that effort was beyond Wheelie.

"Can you not just walk along the bottom?"

"Could, but they'll never find Brains down there—and if I go into stasis lock they'll never find me either, not before the water gets to somethin' important!"

She snagged a large plastic water cooler jug. "Up you go, Wheelie."

She kicked hard to stay afloat with the little mech. "Can't!" Wheelie gasped, fumbling with it. "Keeps rollin'!"

But he could cling to it as if it were a life preserver, and with the bottle anchored between them, they got Brains on top of it. Once they were stable, Wheelie had to use his jets only to keep them from floating downstream with the slow current. Both Diarwen and Wheelie once again started yelling for help.

Chromia and Arcee came first, but the stairway slowed them—their monopedal wheeled forms were not suited for navigating steps. They shouted for more help, though.

Ironhide was right behind them. "What in the Pit?"

"Diarwen found the minibots!"

Ironhide jumped from the street down to the sidewalk. He reached over the railing for Brains and handed him up to Sideswipe, who sped away on his wheels to get Brains to Ratchet.

Ironhide reached down again, taking Wheelie into one servo, Diarwen into the other.

Wheelie, set down, shook water off himself, and once Ironhide lifted him to street level, transformed to race off after his brother.

Diarwen carefully avoided the broken glass. By then, Chromia had navigated the stairs. "Why are you walking so slowly?"

"There is glass everywhere," Diarwen answered with a quick smile, "and my feet are not made of metal."

"Oh! Stay put, I'll get your things for you."

That done, the Sidhe winced as she wrung water from her hair and clothing. She was even more pale than usual; Chromia's sensors showed that injuries and exhaustion were finally catching up with her.

Ironhide lifted both of them up top as well, then climbed the stairs. His mate stayed close enough to catch Diarwen if she fell, as the Autobot feared she might.

Diarwen sat on a chunk of concrete to put her boots back on. There was less glass up here, but still there were enough makeshift caltrops waiting for the unwary to make barefoot navigation dangerous.

One of the NEST medics brought a green blanket, which Chromia wrapped around her friend's shoulders. "Diarwen? What do you need to take care of your injuries?"

"Soap and clean water, if nothing else. I've learned the hard way not to use human medicines," she said, with an apologetic look at the medic. He only grinned and nodded, being used to special medical needs, and thinking nothing of it. He stayed close, though, as he too did not like the Sidhe's color.

Chromia said, "Let's see what we can find. Primus knows what you might get out of that river. You need dry clothes, too. Is there some sort of procedure for taking things from a store and paying for it later?"

The Sidhe drew the blanket more closely around herself. "Oh, my, no, they can shoot people for looting. I know, it's an emergency, but that's just how humans are. It's of no consequence, Chromia, though I thank you for the thought. I've worn wet clothes before."

The medic, realizing that Diarwen had support, went back to his station. Ironhide went that way as well, to check on the brave little mechs whose quick thinking had saved Wheeljack and Bumblebee from Soundwave earlier. Chromia and Diarwen crossed ruined pavement and gravel at the Sidhe's slow pace before they joined the others in the lobby.

Graham, Lennox' 2iC, had managed to reach the owner of the hotel over a very dodgy satellite uplink, and gotten permission for them to use what they needed. Once they were inside, Chromia discovered a lost and found closet. She compared what she found to her scans of Diarwen. The first pair of jeans was a size 18; the slender Sidhe could have fit in one leg of those. Behind them she found a pair of black slacks closer to the right size. She also picked up a Chicago Cubs shirt that looked like it was meant for a boy—anyway, it was the sort of thing that she had seen Sam wearing. But it was clean, and roughly the right size, and that was really all that mattered right now.

From the kitchen, they got bottled water, and salt and lemon juice to treat Diarwen's injuries. Both would both sting, but disinfect the wounds. While Diarwen raided the pantry, in a nearby maid's closet Chromia found some hotel soap bars.

Just the chance to wash up a little helped the pain immensely. Diarwen took extra care over areas of broken skin; Chromia had a good point about that river water. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what could have been swimming around in it with her, much less what kind of chemicals it held.

Chromia handed her a towel. "Are you sure there isn't more we should be doing?"

Diarwen shook her head. "I'll set some healing charms. That's all I can do apart from soap and water and a little kitchen medicine. I'm afraid the iron burn will have to fend for itself until I get home, or until someone can bring my herb box from Betony's house. There is nothing to be concerned about, though; everything is healing well."

In spite of herself, Diarwen gave a jaw-cracking yawn.

Chromia smiled at that, and said, "Well, good night then. I'm going back out to the lot with the others."

"Good night, Chromia. I thank you for your help."

Diarwen went into the maids' closet for blankets, then lay down on one of the lobby sofas.

Lennox walked by, checking in with the soldiers on guard duty in the lobby. She overheard some tired discussion about clearing the upper floors. There was some concern about smaller 'Cons like symbionts or pretenders hiding up there, and while it would have been nice to use the hotel rooms, the men were all exhausted.

Lennox looked around at everyone already more or less comfortably bivouacked in the spacious but secure front lobby, near the main doors if they needed to get out in a hurry, and he decided that any such undertaking could wait until morning. "Fig, your squad has first watch. Cadogan, you take second."

Diarwen heard a couple of "Yes, sirs" before exhaustion claimed her.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next thing Diarwen knew, it was pitch dark and there was a noise of helicopters landing, so she went out to see what was happening. It proved to be the National Guard, arriving to secure the area and establish a command post to carry out rescue work.

Optimus and Will were talking to the Guard unit's commanding officer. In no way could they assure the commander that there were not more 'Cons out there hiding among the thousands of wrecked and abandoned vehicles, and neither NEST nor the bots were in any shape to go looking for more trouble. The Sisters were the only ones not beaten half to death, and all of them were very low on energon.

Veterans of Baghdad, the Guard decided to establish a green zone, clearing an LZ big enough for the Ospreys to bring in more troops and equipment as well as whatever NEST wanted from their base in Washington DC. Ratchet commed Optimus with a long list, with energon at the top.

Optimus Prime lost track of how many of the Guard troops stopped to say thanks or to express their shame at the actions of their government. He was able to assure them that the highest levels of government, at least, had been in on the ruse. Apparently "making deals with terrorists" was near the top of the Guards' taboo list—as far as these soldiers were concerned, terrorists were to be killed at any opportunity, and that was that.

The Prime saw Diarwen and came over. "Brains and Wheelie will be fine, thanks to you."

Diarwen said quietly, "That is good news. What will you do now?"

Optimus looked out over the dark ruins. Now that the gas main fire across the river on Wacker Drive was out, Chicago looked like Iacon or Beirut or even Troy: any city over whose body a war had been fought. "Primus knows. I wonder if that has ever been less in our own servos; I suppose I will have to wait to speak to Director Mearing. What about you?"

"I hadn't thought ahead," she replied. "I'm sure I can make myself useful here for a while. There will be much to do before this city will rise up again."

"But they will rebuild?" He sounded as tired as she felt, and had more bare metal than paint. The areas of his armor that made up his windows in alt mode were cracked.

The worst of his injuries, though, was his missing arm. Ratchet had done what he could: the Prime was no longer leaking energon, at least. But Diarwen could see from his aura that the wound was still painful even with his sensors turned down. He belonged on a berth in a nice clean medbay somewhere, but the exigencies of war made that impossible.

"In time," she assured him, touched that, with his own injuries, he spared a thought for the plight of others. "Perhaps, for many, in another place. But they will resume their lives, and move on. I've seen them do that over and over again." She sighed as she followed his gaze across the river. "Over and over...some gods-cursed fool starts these things, and thousands die, and hundreds of thousands must rebuild. Ten years later someone else starts it all up again. They learn nothing."

Optimus answered her quietly. "When peaceful people are attacked, they _must_ fight back or be enslaved. Hear me, Diarwen, because of what our warriors did here, all of us together, the damage was confined to a dead planet and a relatively small area of a living one. I am not in any way trying to minimize the cost, but remember that most of the people of Earth can go on with their lives as usual."

She nodded. "That is truth," she replied softly. "I thank you for it."

Ratchet joined them. "They've brought what I needed from the base, Optimus."

Prime nodded. "Please excuse us, Lady."

Diarwen smiled. "Of course." She watched them go, then went over to Lennox, who had also grabbed a catnap but still looked like he was about to drop.

He said, "Diarwen. I never got a chance to thank you for what you did for my sister. If there's ever anything I can do—"

"You owe me no debt, Will. Betony is my dearest friend."

"Then welcome to the family. You looked after her just as I would have."

The Sidhe nodded in acknowledgment, then paused before she said, "Will, I have a deep concern. I asked Optimus just now what the Autobots will do now that their war is over. His answer indicated that their fate is in your government's hands. I mislike—I fear—what that could mean for them."

The intense hazel eyes fastened on her. "Mearing is in Washington now. She's on our side, Diarwen."

"What else can we do? They need a contingency plan, else they will end up slaves to the whim of a government that flies like leaves on the wind with any change in public opinion!"

Will said, "I know, but they need resources that only the government can provide. They don't have anywhere to run."

Diarwen felt tears pricking her eyes as the reality of the situation faced by her new friends crashed in on her. In light of that, Optimus' perspective on the battle and its results was even more extraordinary. For this world, they had given up their hope of future generations, and now she had sacrificed their last hope of ever returning home, of at least living out their lives in familiar lands. They truly were as time-lost as she herself was. "Oh, Goddess."

Will said, "Right now all anybody knows is, we survived the battle. Tomorrow we'll figure out what we got, what we need, and where we need to go from here." He put a strong hand on her shoulder for a moment, then went to rejoin his men.

Diarwen had to agree with the sense in that. She took a deep breath for what felt like the first time that day.

Overhead, the stars shone in unusual clarity, the battle-darkened city providing no competition to their brilliance. She sat on a block of concrete and watched them, seeking answers or perhaps just reassurance, and let tomorrow be soon enough to take on the new dawn's challenges.

In the darkness, she let silent tears for her battle-kin flow unchecked.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next morning, the whole country mobilized for an all-out rescue effort. Right after the long, long train of National Guard trucks bringing in tents and supplies and willing hands came the Red Cross and the Salvation Army with still more of the same, and a caravan of news trucks bearing nothing but curiosity.

Betony Lennox and the friend that she'd driven up here with, Jaime Anderson, rose to the challenge of providing supplies, and started organizing a legion of independent long-haul truckers to bring in the flood of donated supplies from all over the US and Canada, so that they could be distributed to survivors.

Diarwen found Betony talking to Jaime in the lot. Sometime during the night, they had gone out to get his truck, and found the tractor undamaged, though there was no sign of the trailer.

She asked Betony, "What are you going to do now?"

"Look for a load," the younger woman said. "We heard the Red Cross needs drivers, so we thought we'd sign up, if they'll cover our expenses. Otherwise, we'll have to find something else to afford fuel, and pick up a load for them if we'd be driving bobtail otherwise."

Diarwen knew it cost hundreds of dollars to fill up a semi, and that wasn't counting all the other expenses of living on the road.

Jaime said, "That's an idea, Betony. If we could get a list together of who is going to be driving bobtail and where their next load is, maybe we could arrange for them to take a load of supplies there instead. Then somebody else could pick it up and take it further along. It would still cost diesel, but not as much."

"I'll tell you what, if some of the big companies would let us drop off trailers and pick them up there-" Betony said.

"Let's go see what the Red Cross needs, then we'll find a cell signal and see what we can get organized."

Jordan came running with his backpack. "Hey, can I get a lift with you guys?"

"Sure, where to?"

"Daytona, eventually. I need to get back to my mom before she ends up in the hospital again."

"If we're not going that way, we'll get you with someone who is," Jaime told him.

Will and Ironhide joined them. Will hugged his sister. "Safe trip, kid."

"Watch out for yourself."

"Always do," he assured her. "Jordan, thanks for everything."

He shook his head. "Betony and Diarwen would have done the same thing for me."

"I know your mom comes first, but if you ever need a job, give me a call," Will told him. "We nearly always civilian positions available."

Jordan nodded gratefully. He had quit his last job to go back to Florida when his mother could no longer live alone, and taking care of her was a full time job right now. "That means a lot, Will."

Ironhide said, "We owe you one, Jordan. You, and all the guys who came in with Sam and Bobby."

Jordan reddened. "Yeah, well, we're Americans. It's what we do. Wrong house to bring trouble to."

Jaime and Will nodded.

The three of them climbed into the cab of Jaime's truck and headed out.

Epps' boys stayed with NEST for a while, but the dead he had commanded were not active duty military, so much of the responsibility for getting them home fell to Bobby. Not the money, Lennox and Mearing saw to that, but it was Epps who took those long walks from curb to front door that every commanding officer dreads.

Ratchet had worked a minor miracle to recover and reattach the Prime's severed arm, a temporary fix as that limb would have to be completely rebuilt if Optimus were to regain full use of it. However, its presence would prevent his self-repair systems from accepting his amputee status as "normal." If that happened the Prime might never be able to integrate a new arm.

He poked Optimus in the windshield and told him, "Do. Not. Leave. The. Green. Zone. Or. Transform! Got it?"

Optimus gave the medic a long look, and saw an exhausted, frazzled mech who had been far too long without recharge. Ratchet had also been left responsible for many of the wounded human soldiers until their own medics had started to make their way into the war zone, and Optimus knew he had not been able to save all of them despite his best efforts. He said, "I understand, old friend. I'll do as you say. Now you need to turn things over to Jolt and recharge for a joor or two, before you drop in the middle of medbay."

Ratchet's servos dropped to his sides as he processed the common sense in that. He couldn't ignore a warning on his HUD that his reserves were in fact approaching critical. He found a good spot to transform to his alt mode, handed off to his apprentice, and went into recharge: followed his Prime's orders for a change, in fact.

That was how Optimus came to be coordinating things from the Green Zone, working with Charlotte Mearing once she returned from Washington a few hours later.

His troops always knew where to find him after a battle: managing the trillion and four things that needed to get done. Particularly after Prowl's deactivation, Optimus had proven to be one of the Autobots' biggest organizational assets.

The rest of the Autobots were out in the city, doing whatever was needed, working side by side with humans and one Sidhe. Their sensors could locate living victims trapped in wreckage as well as anything humans had invented. Some of the Autobots had sensors which rivaled even the noses of those specially trained rescue dogs being brought in from all over the world.

The search that really hit the news was that which resulted in freeing several hundred survivors from the lowest underground level of a collapsed parking garage. The day after the battle, Ironhide, Sideswipe and Diarwen were a few blocks from the hotel, returning from seeking survivors in a tangle of wrecked cars. The Cybertronians had next cleared the automotive carcasses, stacking them neatly by the side of the road, so that emergency vehicles could get into the area.

Job done, the trio were returning to base when they came past a large group of rescue workers outside the heavily-damaged structure.

On the sidewalk across the street from the front of the building, a fire chief, a police captain with his badge hanging on a chain around his neck, and a city engineer were arguing with each other and several of the next rank of first responders. The fire chief was saying, "Look, we need to get that damn equipment in here now! I'm not sending people in there blind. We'd just create more victims. And if we make it settle, we could kill everyone who's down there now!"

Diarwen said, "Are they going to talk, or actually do something before the building collapses?"

Ironhide, Sideswipe, and the Sidhe watched the whole circus for a few minutes, then Sides said, agreeing, "They're going to argue for hours. Those people haven't _got_ hours."

"There must be five hundred of 'em down there," Ironhide agreed, after a sensor sweep of the parking garage.

Sideswipe scanned the wreckage again. "The stress is on those front piers. The back ones will hold until the whole thing gives. If we can move some of this slag and clear out just one of those ramps, they could get out that way."

Ironhide looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. Sometimes this fragger really had good ideas that did not involve practical jokes. "Easier to get forgiveness than permission," he replied, being more like the silver menace than either would care to admit.

They worked together, Diarwen at the ready behind them, to move some chunks of concrete out of the way. All the time they were very aware that moving the wrong chunk could bring the rest of the building down on them, and those they were attempting to rescue, as well. It slowed the work: move a chunk a millimeter, see if disaster resulted; if not move it another.

The humans were still arguing when, broken concrete out of the way, Sides crawled down the ramp to cut up and remove a mass of tangled, twisted girders, creating an escape route.

At first, nothing happened, though both mechs could hear hushed whispers and people rustling around in the darkness. Eyes wide and bright with fear, the survivors halted far down the ramp at first sight of Ironhide and Sideswipe. The last time they saw Cybertronians, those beings had made a very good attempt to kill them.

The Autobots shifted their vision to IR and saw a woman shielding her children with her body. A man stepped in front of another woman, but then the two of them took a few hesitant steps forward. One big guy pushed another fellow, a total stranger, behind him, and craned his neck to get a better view.

Sides called down the ramp, "Coming out? Or do you want us to get you some change of address forms?"

A man carrying a briefcase was startled into a grin at finding a kindred spirit here of all places. He walked up the ramp like he owned the place, brass personified, so caked with dust that his hair, skin and once-expensive suit were uniformly gray from head to foot, with rusty spots and patches of his own dried blood.

He took a good look around half-way up, taking in the state of the building, then turned and yelled down the ramp, "Come on! If they wanted us dead, we'd be dead!"

One woman said, "Let's go! We can't stay down here!"

The fellow saw someone having trouble and went back down to assist an older man up the ramp. At the top, a teenager in a baseball cap, tears running down his face, took over with the old man. Apparently it was his grandfather; they had been separated in the darkness and confusion, and each had thought the other dead.

While the Powers That Be were still arguing about the safest way to conduct their rescue, first two or three, then a dozen, then scores of refugees began to stream out of the wrecked building and mill around on the blacktop outside. The man who had taken the lead stayed for a while, leading people up the ramp until the line started moving in earnest. Then he asked Ironhide, "Is there a plan?"

Ironhide replied, "If you go around to the front the building, the cops and firefighters are waiting on the other side of the street. They'll help you."

"Thanks." He followed Ironhide's directions and walked up to a reporter. "Hey, buddy! That big black robot who got us out of there said there are some cops and ambulances over here someplace. Do you know where we're supposed to go?"

The reporter yelled to his cameraman, then pointed past the crowd of police and firefighters. "The ambulance crews are right over there. How many are alive down there?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know. A lot. Hundreds. Whenever one of those damn ships flew over, more people ran in. Finally they shot up the garage and trapped us down there."

The news team raced to get footage of the rescue, and CNN put up the live feed, as a steady stream of survivors followed the man with the briefcase toward the crowd of first responders.

Ironhide and Sideswipe were oblivious to their fifteen minutes of fame as they hurried people up the ramp and out of danger. They kept glancing up at the ceiling, and at those weakened front piers, which were starting to groan with the strain.

One of the firemen looked, did a double take, and told the chiefs, "The Autobots got them out! Let us help!"

The fire chief said, "Go!"

A dozen police and firefighters went down into the basement, squeezing past the people coming up. Some fell by the wayside to help stragglers, usually the wounded, along. The rest continued on down, to get into the smallest parts of the void the bots could not reach, ensuring that no one unable to walk got left behind. Soon a few stretchers were carried out by the fire department paramedics, with the family and friends who had refused to leave their injured walking along close beside them.

A huge cheer went up when the long, straggling line of walking wounded and laden stretcher-bearers cleared the basement, and the last police officer returned to sunlight and air.

Ironhide and Sides were about to get out of there as well, when Sides picked up a faint electrical pattern from deep inside a void created by a fallen concrete slab. "Hide! Wait! I got some more people back in this hole!"

"Stop, Sides, we're too heavy! We'll bring it all down!"

Diarwen stripped off her armor and weapons belts, anything that might snag, taking only her dagger in case she needed to cut someone free of a seat belt. Sides subspaced the rest for her as she stuffed her braid into the back of her shirt and crawled into the hole.

A few minutes later, people started to crawl out—two kids, a woman holding a baby, a man.

Then the whole structure groaned and cracked, and the slab shifted. Ironhide shouted, "Diarwen!"

He grabbed the edge of the slab and lifted it up, just enough for Diarwen to wriggle one arm free and grab Sideswipe's digit. The silver Autobot pulled her free, and hunched over her to keep falling debris off her as he dived for daylight.

Ironhide was behind him when the overhead level caved in, and Chromia's shrill scream was drowned by the dreadful noise of rending steel and falling sheets of concrete.

Sides looked back, but all he could see was a cloud of dust and a huge slab leaning at a crazy angle against the already-weakened front columns. For a split second he stared, before processing that Ironhide was trapped under that. Then the wreckage settled, slipping another inch, and a cascade of crushed concrete flowed down the columns like flood water. Sides finally found his voice and shouted, "Hide! Primus, no!"

Like survivors of disasters everywhere, Sideswipe, Chromia, and Diarwen panicked when they realized that Ironhide was buried alive, shouting his name, tearing at the rubble with bare hands and servos. A crowd of rescuees and first responders surged forward, and within seconds they had an army of help.

Chromia yelled, "He's alive but he's trapped right under this slab! Don't put any more weight on it! Get back! Get back off it!"

The helpers retreated.

"We need a big crane to move it!" Sides shouted.

A firefighter in a chief's white helmet issued a series of orders into his radio, then ordered the crowd to get out of the building; everyone obeyed except Diarwen and the two bots.

"Not getting rid of you three, am I?" the man said, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes betraying the severity of his tone. "Okay, it's like this: I say 'jump,' you ask 'How high?' on the way up. Clear?"

They nodded.

He said, "You _can _jump, right?"

Sides snapped, "Higher than you can, fleshy!"

Chromia hissed, _"Sideswipe!"_

The chief snorted. "Fine. You can go out and clear a way for the crane if you want to help."

Chromia turned to the others and said, "Please, go ahead. I want to stay."

Leaving, Sides and Diarwen heard the chief say, "I say get out, you get out."

Chromia replied, "If it comes down, I'm staying. He's my mate. I won't survive him long in any case, and I want to be with him if he goes."

The man had not been made a fire chief because he was stupid. He nodded, eyes somber.

It took some time, but Sideswipe's sheer size was their best asset, Diarwen realized. He asked politely, and people moved. When the huge construction crane arrived a very few minutes later, it had a clear path to the garage.

Its operator climbed out to survey the site, and the city engineer ran up to him with a blueprint. The fire chief joined them, while the crane operator unrolled it; the three held it between them, their voices loud and urgent as they conferred with the engineer. Pointing fingers jabbed the air: at the slab, the ceiling, the creaking front piers.

From large cracks in the roof, bits of rubble showered down through shafts of sunlight. Sporadically the ruins creaked and groaned as they shifted in place.

Over the noise of the building and the crowd, Sideswipe and Diarwen heard the engineer say, "That roof is coming down. We have to get him free and get out of here. Every second this takes, it's getting more dangerous."

The fire chief grabbed one of the cables and ran to a corner of the slab, stabbing the grapple into an angle of exposed rebar. The much smaller engineer crawled up the steeply-tilted slab itself to attach a second.

A chunk of concrete came free of the ceiling with a roar. Sideswipe slapped it as it plummeted, knocking it aside so that it grazed the engineer's leg rather than crushing him.

The man cursed loudly, but kept his grip on the hook and set it firmly into the slab. Sides reached over to affix the last one, then carefully lifted the engineer from his precarious perch.

The fire chief told the crane operator, "OK, take it up!" With a roar of engines and a shriek of overworked metal, the crane reeled in the slack.

The concrete started to rise.

Sides leaned in under it as soon as he had a millimeter of clearance, but leapt back as something gave under his ped. From there, Ironhide was just out of reach; Sides stepped forward again, and tensed as the floor shifted once more—the concrete he was standing on was hanging on by the rebar it contained. He reached for Ironhide, grasped his servos, and cautiously took the other bot's weight.

When the concrete shifted no further, Sideswipe pulled the heavier Ironhide out, ignoring the stressed-metal groan of his own systems and the overweight warnings that began to flash on his HUD. More concrete cracked under his peds, and under Ironhide as well, exposing the web of rebar.

Ironhide yelled as that rebar snagged one of his back plates. He twisted, but left a stripe of blue energon on the wreckage.

Larger chunks of concrete were falling now, big enough to do the bots harm if they hit.

Once Sides had backed up far enough to pull Ironhide within reach, Chromia caught her bondmate's arm, and with Sideswipe's continued assistance, pulled her mate free of the wreckage and into the parking lot.

A shout of victory went up from the crowd, rescue workers, survivors, and reporters alike, when they realized he was moving.

There was a final, mighty "Keeerrrack!" from somewhere in the doomed structure, and it all came down in a rush of sound and displaced air, dust billowing out to cover them all, hiding the last moments of destruction within it.

The police and firefighters began to herd the crowd of refugees back across the street, where the paramedics were setting up a triage area. A fresh wave of ambulances waited to take the walking casualties to join friends and family already hospitalized.

By then a heavy military flatbed driven by one of the NEST troops had arrived to take Ironhide back to the Green Zone. Sideswipe knelt to pick him up and place him on it, but a brace of paramedics said, racing over, "Hey, don't do that! He could've hurt his back or neck in there!"

Ironhide himself said, "'S all right, Sides, I can walk."

Chromia snapped, "And exactly how long have _you_ been practicing medicine? The humans are right."

Ironhide grumbled, sounding like chunks of lumber inside a cement mixer, but relaxed back onto the ground.

One of the paramedics said, "For a human, we'd use a back board. Do you have anything like that?"

Ironhide snapped, "If you hadn't realized, we ain't human!"

The paramedic squatted beside him, in view, and said, "True, you ain't, but you're built like us. Bet you've got control channels running up and down your back and neck. If you wrenched either one, you could do some pretty bad damage. Best to avoid it, yeah?"

Not even Ironhide could argue with that.

The crane operator volunteered a flat metal plate normally used to lift construction materials to upper floors. With Sideswipe's help, he hooked it up to the crane cables and they used that as an improvised backboard.

Ironhide had been stunned by the impact, and there were wounds that needed repair, but his self-diagnostics weren't returning anything critical. When a little kid who reminded him of Lennox' daughter yelled to ask if he was OK, he gave her a thumbs-up. The news cameras ate it up.

The whole drama put the Autobots in everyone's living room, saving people's lives and working together with first responders.

By the end of the day, everybody knew there had been two factions; and knew too who belonged to which one.

End Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

Disclaimers in Part 1

A rush of cheers met the little caravan as it pulled into the Green Zone. Sunstreaker was already there, in answer to Sideswipe's call, barely mobile himself. Both sets of twins carried Ironhide, metal slab and all, to Ratchet's corner of the parking lot, followed by several other people who wanted to know what had happened.

Ratchet made his way through the mob, yelling, "Get out of my way! I've got a patient over there! Can't you find something _useful _to do?" Once he had made his way through the crowd to Ironhide's side, he pointed at Chromia, Sideswipe and Diarwen, who were all covered with concrete dust. "Not you three! Unless you have something seriously wrong with you, hit the washracks and come straight back here."

Diarwen supposed "washrack" was a generic term. The bots had obtained a pump for river water, which, as iffy as it was, beat trying to recharge with grime and grit in every nook and cranny.

Still, she didn't fancy using it on herself.

She went back to her room, to find regulations in place concerning the use and disposal of water for bathing. She obeyed them, though they cost her a little time, and returned.

By then Jolt had already pronounced Chromia and Sideswipe unharmed. With her permission, he scanned Diarwen. "I am showing various scrapes and contusions that seem minor, as well as a moderate compression injury to your thighs. How would your traditions treat these?"

"The scrapes and bruises? I washed them already, and nothing is still bleeding. Mostly I will keep them clean and let them tend to themselves. Your 'compression injury' resulted from being hit by a lighting fixture on the bottom of a slab of concrete. I think if a bone were broken I should know that by now. Is the muscle actually torn or are there simply deep bruises?"

"It seems the latter, but in humans, sometimes the symptoms don't show up immediately. I have no data on anyone of your species to compare, but it seems prudent to be aware of possible complications."

"Then I will have you check it again in the morning—sooner if anything seems amiss."

The apprentice healer nodded. "Sensible."

Diarwen drew near to Ratchet, who was checking out a grumbling, cursing Ironhide. It had been the Sidhe's experience that warriors moaned and complained endlessly about minor injuries, and met more serious ones with stoic silence. Ratchet told his patient, "You're just lucky you were in a void. If that damn slab had come all the way down, you'd be as flat as a floor plate."

"Yeah, I knew it was a void when I went in there, didn't I?" Ironhide growled in a tone that probably would have shut up anybody else except Optimus.

Ratchet said, "You're the luckiest slagger I know, even when you don't deserve it," and went on with his work without missing a beat.

"I _always_ deserve it."

They continued to scold one another, two old friends, friends in fact for longer than most of the rest of them had been alive.

Except Diarwen. With her legs aching she felt every second of her long years.

Ratchet paused for a moment to look at the scans that Jolt had taken of her and said to Diarwen, "You need to get off your feet. Keeping your legs elevated will help prevent complications."

"Off my feet sounds fine to me," she smiled. She regretted being unable to offer more help, but she knew she was hindered enough by her injuries to be a liability to other rescuers if anything went wrong. Since her usefulness was temporarily at an end, Diarwen returned to her room to get a few hours' sleep.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Pain and an empty stomach woke Diarwen as the day outside her window started to darken. By then, a bundle of clean clothing and towels had been left outside her door.

Since all the Decepticons had yet to be accounted for, she put her mail shirt on over its quilted padding and under her BDUs. She was thankful to have the lightweight mithril armor; it had saved her more than one serious injury. Especially with her magic taking its time to return, she wasn't about to leave it in the room.

On a whim Diarwen took up her harp as well, and made her way out to find everyone else.

It was a fine night among the ruins. A barbecue grill and a cooler of beer had appeared from somewhere, and though Lennox had limited the festivities to two cans each, morale was higher than it had been since Sentinel's attempt on Ironhide.

Betony came over and gave her a gentle hug. "I hear a parking garage fell on you."

"That it did! Ironhide and Sideswipe got me out, then Ironhide was trapped himself when the whole next level caved in. We were lucky. Did you sign on with the Red Cross?"

"Yes, it looks like we'll be driving for them for a while. We made a delivery and we had enough room in the truck for a few care packages for you and my bro. Are you sure you're all right?"

"My legs are bruised up fairly spectacularly. In a moment we will feel the wrath of Ratchet if I don't get off them." And indeed, she could feel the Ratchet-glower heating up her shoulder blades from across the gravel lot.

Betony jerked a thumb away from the bench he occupied, and Wheelie let out an indignant modem-noise squawk. "Hey! I was here first."

"And Diarwen needs to sit down," Betony replied.

"…Oh. Why didn't ya say so in the first place?"

She dragged over an empty crate for a footrest. "I mentioned a care package. I'll get it from the truck."

She ran to it on the far side of the lot, and having seen Diarwen's harp, also brought back her bodhran. They contributed a few sets of upbeat pub music to the party, and by the time they stopped for a rest, and dug into burgers and beer, Diarwen had all but forgotten the ache in her legs.

She examined the large bag that Betony had brought her. All natural toiletries and treats from an organic grocery were very welcome indeed, as was a box of her favorite tea, and a bag of assorted herbs.

"I tried to guess the herbs you'd need the most."

Diarwen smiled. "The goldenseal and arnica will help immensely! This was very thoughtful, Betony."

"Will told me he adopted you. We Lennoxes stick together."

Diarwen laughed. "I'm getting stiff sitting here, but I really don't want to deal with Ratchet's nagging if he sees me walking around. Come up to my room with me."

Betony took the bag and the harp, and followed her up. "This isn't so bad for roughing it. The Red Cross people have tents in that park by the stadium," the younger woman said, looking around the hotel room.

"I should think you'd seen enough of that place."

"It was the most terrifying thing that's ever happened to me, but I've been out where everything is still normal. It's like a tornado hit, you know? It's awful, but the damage is confined to right here. It's like Ground Zero was. I had to pull over and let Jaime drive into the city, I was crying so hard for these poor people."

"I don't know how they are doing what they do...we thought of the survivors as victims, but so many of them are out there in hard hats now, cleaning up the mess. I am in awe of them."

Betony nodded. "You should read some Carl Sandburg. Chicagoans are strong people."

"That they are."

Her friend looked critically at Diarwen. "You look like you could use some rest."

Shades of night, would she be nannied by members of two separate species? "I already slept, though I'm tired again. I need to make use of some of your herbs first in any case."

"I'll help you," Betony said, as Diarwen opened her hotel room door. "Where can I wash my hands?"

"There's some of that waterless hand sanitizer over there. Otherwise we have to bring wash water up the stairs."

"That'll do just as well," Betony replied.

Diarwen found that it was good to have someone with her who knew what she was doing. Betony began to crush herbs, and add them, together with a few drops of essential oils, to an olive oil base, which she gently warmed over a tinned lavender travel candle.

She also winced when she saw the iron burn.

"Some 'Con slapped me into a piece of rebar," Diarwen explained.

"Ouch."

"He thought so, a few minutes later."

Betony used the oil mixture to treat her friend's iron burn as well as all the other cuts and scrapes she found. Diarwen found herself relaxing as the gentle fluid extinguished the fire of her injuries.

"Oh, wow!" her friend said, stopping for a moment. "Those are _some_ bruises on the backs of your legs. What do you want me to do for them?"

"Do you have any witch hazel?"

"I think I bought a bottle."

Betony's sure hands brought enough relief from the pain that Diarwen fell asleep in spite of herself. She awakened in the small hours of the morning, lying in lavender-scented darkness on top of the bedspread, covered by a sheet and blanket.

When she roused enough to move, paper crackled under her hand.

Diarwen called a spark to the candle's wick, and read Betony's note in its dim light.

_Dear Diarwen, Jaime and I are going to the staging area in Gary to pick up another load. Hope you sleep well. Rest those legs another couple of days and keep having them checked. I should be back through soon. Love, Bet._

Diarwen smiled, and folded the note.

She had no watch, but it was pitch dark out; she went to the window, and found that a slender crescent of the waxing moon kept watch over the wounded city. Diarwen smiled again, and raised her hand as if to touch it, a child reaching for her Mother.

She dressed and, rather than wander into the gravel lot next door, where she would likely have to deal with Ratchet, she went down the riverbank, in the other direction.

A pair of auras on the other side of the hotel were Ironhide's and Chromia's. She doubted that Ratchet knew Ironhide was moving around, but it was none of her business if he wanted to chance the medic's short temper. Giving them their privacy, she kept walking.

The street ended a block away in a crater which had filled with river water. By then Ratchet's wisdom in telling her to stay off her feet for the sake of her bruised legs had made itself apparent. She sat down on an overturned planter to watch the sky.

She heard small scuffling sounds close to the building, which proved to be an opportunistic rat taking advantage of the lack of streetlights and traffic to look for a meal. An owl flew across the moon, sending the rat scurrying for the cover of an overturned car.

It wouldn't take long for nature to move in if these steel-and-concrete canyons remained empty of humans for much longer.

Then movement _far_ too close behind her had her on her feet, sword in hand. She put it away to Optimus' deep laughter.

"For someone your size, my friend, you move more quietly than many cats!"

"I saw you out here alone, Diarwen, and grew concerned."

She smiled at him, this enormous being who was among the kindest she had ever known. "Well, I slept myself out, but over there I'd have well-meaning people telling me what I must and must not do."

"I understand that," was his rueful reply.

"If you are recovered sufficiently to sneak up on me, then you must be healing."

"I think so, but Ratchet is being Ratchet."

No further explanation necessary, he made himself comfortable nearby, and they watched the sun rise over the lake in an easy, warm silence.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

When Diarwen and Optimus went back to the others, their FEMA liaison was talking to Sideswipe.

Prime deliberately hung back. Optimus trusted the silver front-liner implicitly on the battlefield. As his 3iC, off it, the young warrior was intensely uncomfortable with the political aspects of his job.

With both Ironhide and Prime himself on the injured list, Prime felt it was a good time for Sides to learn by doing. They were still handy to give advice if something out of the ordinary happened, though that was unlikely to be anything unfixable in the aftermath of the battle. Government agencies were genuinely motivated to help rather than obfuscate, which was also a safety net for the young 3iC.

Will and Mearing came over to join the discussion, gravel crunching under their feet.

There was a brief commotion near the NEST vehicles. Optimus recognized several NEST troops from the Diego Garcia and Mission City bases unloading rucksacks from the back of a hummer and distributing them to their owners, men and women who must have come in during the night.

Epps and his boys were around, too, in uniform again after they had been offered their old jobs back. A few who had chosen to remain civilians had gone home, having responsibilities there. Most planned to collect truckloads of donations and return with more volunteers as soon as they could arrange to be away.

Optimus knew that Bobby had left the agency reluctantly, and only because his wife had put her foot down about taking care of their tribe of children on her own. The smallest was now in preschool. He figured that, and two years of a bored Bobby Epps underfoot, had convinced her to give him her blessing to re-up.

Alistair Graham was still Will's 2iC, and Epps hadn't said a word about it. The ex-SAS officer had been in his element in the thick of the fight.

Will put Bobby in charge of logistics, which kept him on the same team with his friends, the Wreckers. They were presently working with the city to get the main roads cleared and restore electricity to the hardest-hit areas.

There hadn't been the sneak attacks from Decepticon stragglers that Optimus had expected. That told him someone had taken command of them, and gotten them out of the area.

Starscream, Shockwave, and Soundwave were all confirmed dead, as were most of the other 'Con front-liners. There was no way of knowing who was in charge now, or what their next move might be.

Megatron had not encouraged any combination of ability and ambition that might challenge his own authority. That created a situation where those who possessed both those qualities hovered just outside the inner circle, awaiting a moment which had now arrived. However, it was still too early to tell who might rise to the top.

His comms activated as Sideswipe pushed out assignments for the day to all the bots who weren't on sick list. Lennox meanwhile issued orders to his troops; various NEST hummers were dispatched, all in different directions.

The Sisters were to take Lennox, Mearing, and FEMA Director William Fugate on a tour of the city to inspect the damage. Before departing, they took a moment to look in on the injured bots. While Will and Chromia visited with Ironhide, Flareup said good morning to Sunstreaker, and Arcee and Mearing introduced Director Fugate to Optimus.

"The President asked me to make sure your people have everything that you need, sir."

The Prime quickly commed Ratchet, and had Hide check with Will, to make sure there were no critical shortages that he didn't know about. "Please convey my thanks and tell him that we do."

"I have busloads of civilian volunteers waiting in Gary and Cicero. Do you feel that the Decepticon threat is mitigated enough to justify bringing them in?"

"Director, there could be wounded 'Cons hiding anywhere, and your people have a saying about cornered rats. My best guess, though, is that most of the surviving Decepticons who were able to do so fled immediately after the battle. I would advise you to bring in your volunteers, but only with the understanding that their safety cannot be guaranteed. We don't have the numbers to escort every work group."

"Thank you for that information, sir. I'll pass it along."

The three sisters and their passengers left the lot, Diarwen bidding Chromia a fond farewell. Optimus radioed the rest of the bots who were out on their work sites that a VIP inspection was headed their way, and asked them to keep watch over the visitors as they traveled through their areas.

Then he turned to Ratchet, and braced himself for the day's bad news. "How does it look?"

"If I thought you could stand being in alt form that long, I'd put you on a C-130 and fly you back to Washington to take care of it properly. All I can really do out here is keep it clean and let your self-repair systems do their job," Ratchet said, scowling. "Is the pain manageable?"

"More or less. I have my sensors turned down."

"If you can, it would be better to turn them up once or twice a day and let me run a diagnostic. There's really no better solution to letting nature take its course out here, but killing your pain sensors can mask problems with reintegration."

Optimus bit back a curse. Sunstreaker was nearly as badly injured, and the only thing he was complaining about was his paint. Ironhide was complaining about being forced to stay in camp. Diarwen, still on her feet by his side, had no option but endure her injuries, yet her only objection had been to Ratchet's nagging. He allowed the healer a hardline port and onlined the sensors.

It hurt every bit as much as he had anticipated, centering on the shoulder joint but radiating down his arm and into his chest.

Ratchet worked as quickly as he could, and then reduced the sensitivity to ten percent with a healer's override.

"Well?" Optimus said.

Ratchet said, "It's still early days yet. But I wish I had you back in DC."

"Is it going to self-repair?" Optimus asked bluntly.

"Not completely, and probably not enough to fully reintegrate the arm," Ratchet answered, just as matter-of-fact.

Diarwen asked, "Then shouldn't we try to get Optimus back to DC?"

Ratchet swung toward her, then returned to his patient. "The problem is transportation. He'd have to travel in alt form aboard a cargo plane. There's no room to transform or even change position before we land. I'd have to put him in stasis for everyone's safety, and that would be a very bad idea in terms of his eventual prognosis right now."

"I'll have to get myself back," Optimus said. "It isn't as if I'd have to stay in one position for hours, or even stay in alt form for that matter."

Ironhide said, "Wait a few days until I can go with you."

"We may not have a few days if the 'Cons decide to try something. They're not going to get a better chance than right now, with the three of us all laid up at once," Sunstreaker argued.

Diarwen said, "If I may go with you, Optimus, I would at least be another pair of hands, and I still have that cell phone, so I would also be another line of contact. If we take an unpredictable route, we should be fine. Safer than here, for all that. Without Soundwave, they have no easy way to locate us, is that not true?"

Optimus was furious with himself for not realizing sooner that his presence, wounded as he was, painted a huge target on their command center: until he was again able to do his own fighting, he was a liability. "You're right. But you need not accompany me."

"Nonsense. I can accomplish nothing here. I might as well make myself useful with something that I can do, as Ratchet has ordered, while sitting down."

Ratchet smiled. Nothing made his life more difficult than bored, convalescent fighters. They inevitably turned idle processors to planning pranks. Sunstreaker was going to be bad enough; Ironhide, too, would become a handful if Chromia couldn't keep him occupied.

The Sidhe was a wild card, but the old medic was willing to bet his last cube of energon that she, too, would be trouble when boredom overcame common sense, and he leapt at the chance to make her feel useful. "It's too dangerous for you to travel alone. We can't spare an able-framed bot. What if you need assistance and can't call for help?" he said to Optimus. "Diarwen's is the best solution. When you're a few hours out from base, let me know, and I'll meet you there."

Ironhide said, "Makes sense and you know it, Prime."

"It does," the Prime said with a rueful smile. Turning to Diarwen, he added, "And I will be grateful for the company. Since this will reduce the danger to all of you, we will depart as soon as Diarwen can be ready to go."

"I need only get my things from my room, Optimus, and leave a message for Betony with Will Lennox."

"Good! We can be on the road in an hour, then?"

She nodded.

"What do you and I need to do to make this happen, Ratchet?"

Ratchet shut his mandible. He'd forgotten how focused Optimus could be, when the need arose. "Take your alt-form, please. You're going to be traveling slowly, and resting often. Understood?"

Diarwen smiled at their healer-patient relationship, and went to get her things from her room.

When they had all completed their various preparations, they chose to wait until the Sisters returned so that Optimus could inform Mearing and Lennox.

Heavy as it was, Diarwen brought all her kit with her into Optimus' cab because, when they stopped for a rest, she didn't want him to be stuck in alt form in a parking lot. With the kit, she was self-sufficient, and they could break for a rest anywhere. From summers spent playing the Faires and exploring, she knew a lot of secluded places throughout the Midwest and Northeast where they might make camp more or less undisturbed.

Mearing, learning of their plans, made a phone call, and soon supplied them with a list of military-owned places that they could use with nothing more than a phone call to get the gate unlocked.

Ratchet said to Optimus, in a tone which warned him not even to think about disobeying his medic, "I don't want you on the road more than two hours without a break. Six hours a day total."

"Very well. I won't exceed those limits." He was used to humoring Ratchet.

Ratchet snorted. _He_ was used to front-liners promising anything to get the Pit out of medbay, then doing as they pleased, and ending up right back in said medbay. Prime wasn't as bad about it as some twins he could mention, but he had the tendency all the same.

An hour later, Optimus and Diarwen found that from the green zone to an area just north of the stadium, there were several places that were absolutely impassable in alt form. Wreckage and deep, water-filled craters blocked the way, as did the as-yet unrecovered remains of two Decepticons—the dead had to wait until rescue of the living was completed. Still, it made for a scene out of nightmare.

Prime traversed the area in his root mode, Diarwen at his side.

Once they reached the stadium, however, two lanes of the Dan Ryan had been cleared, the northbound bringing in workers and supplies, the southbound taking out empty trucks and buses full of refugees.

On either side, the wrecked cars and rubble had been shoved out of the way; removing the refuse would come later. An army of volunteers in day-glow orange vests wielding flags and light-sticks were directing traffic and ensuring that work crews, tasked with moving disabled vehicles to the side, were quickly notified of new or newly-found breakdowns.

Diarwen said, "This is amazing. I have never seen such organization following a disaster."

"Unfortunately, Will tells me that the government has had a great deal of practice in dealing with such things after 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina."

"Yes, I should think they would feel that they have something to prove, after Katrina. I was in Afghanistan then, but some of the stories I heard were shameful."

"Things that could be called shameful will undoubtedly happen here. In any situation of mass disarray involving this number of people, mistakes will be made, and of course those who are not...honorable...will have the ability to exercise that trait. I have not yet been involved in any evacuation that was not plagued with confusion."

Diarwen said, "Oh, aye, but the aftermath of Katrina was worse. From what I was told, getting help to those who most needed it seemed to be delayed by racism and class inequities. That simply cannot be excused."

"If that proved truly to be the case, of course not," he rumbled. "It does seem that the oversight this time is strict enough to be sure that won't be a problem."

"I would hope so. Chicago is where the President came of age. He began his political career as an activist here, and his ties to the city are still strong. I suspect that just as many prayers for the lost and the missing are going up from the White House as from any other home in the nation."

Optimus forgot his pain for a long moment as he realized something: all his family were alive, and he knew where they were. Under the circumstances, that was nothing short of a miracle from Primus.

Miracles continued to manifest as they drove. They passed a bus leading a line of trucks and RVs proudly flying the banner of a carpenter's local from Mississippi. A hand lettered sign on the side of the bus proclaimed, "You were there for us after Katrina, we are here for Chicago now!"

Behind them were a couple of church buses with tents and bundles of supplies lashed to the top; their signs said they were from Birmingham. And then came two department store trucks full of donated supplies. Following them were a couple of flatbeds bringing construction equipment, and a caravan of pickup trucks full of workers—another union local.

Optimus and Diarwen found themselves stopped in traffic near a news truck, and the reporters aboard recognized Optimus. That lucky news team got their lead story when the Autobot leader gave them a short interview, while Diarwen promptly cast a glamour over herself: she was ignored, and in fact the cameraman never could say why he consistently framed his shots to exclude such a striking woman.

Still, the fact that Optimus had been seen headed south would help prevent a raid on the camp by those hunting him. Or so he hoped.

Before their questions became rude or intrusive, the volunteer traffic patrol told the reporters they had to get their truck moving. Optimus bade them farewell, camera and sound operators lingering long enough to film his transformation, then running to catch their ride.

End Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Disclaimers in Part 1

Diarwen climbed back into Optimus' cab when he swung open the door. The chance to take his root mode for a few minutes had helped, but from the gray tones starting to show in his aura, Diarwen judged that he needed to stop and rest soon.

It was another hour before they got a chance to head east, though, and some time after that before they came to a National Guard armory that was on the list Mearing had given them. The soldier who unlocked the gate for them said, "Welcome, sir. Is there anything you need?"

"Diarwen?"

"I'm fine."

"Thank you, we have everything. Thank you for your hospitality."

"You're welcome, sir." He indicated Optimus' running boards. "May I?"

"Certainly."

He indicated a very large Quonset hut at the far end of the compound, and when they approached it, he jumped off and ran ahead to unlock it. This building normally served as a garage for the unit's many heavy vehicles. Now, while all the equipment was in use in the city, the building was nearly empty, and echoed to their voices and footfalls.

"I'll be in the office if you want me," the young man said. "After Chicago, sir, anything I can do, I'll be glad to."

"Thank you," Optimus rumbled, "but we should be fine here."

"Sir," the soldier said, and left, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

And with that, they had the building to themselves. Diarwen unrolled her sleeping bag to have something to sit on besides the cold floor, and got an apple from the stash of food that Betony had given her.

Optimus ruefully admitted to himself that Ratchet had been right about how much travel he could stand before he needed to stop and rest. He fell straight into recharge as soon as he got out of alt form.

Diarwen kept a quiet watch for a couple of hours, then felt a need to move around. She removed her boots to keep from making noise and took herself and her sword to the far side of the building. At first she moved slowly, carefully stretching and warming up because she wanted to work through her injury, not make it worse. Only then did she pick up speed.

The exercise, which Sidhe warriors called the sword dance, was along the same lines as those sequences of movement that Eastern martial artists called kata, and both Sidhe and Cybertronians called "forms." Sidhe children learned the basic steps with a ribbon wand before they were ever allowed to touch a blade. In a similar way, Scotsmen were taught the sword dance before they learned the sword; "Never give a sword to a man who can't dance," the Scots said, because he who cannot complete a sword dance is not fit enough to enter battle. The Chinese, knowing the same truth, had the same proverb.

Now, Diarwen heard the music of the dance only in memory.

Optimus was awakened by a flash of light off metal as her sword intersected a sunbeam. He was content merely to rest once awake, doing and fearing nothing, watching Diarwen in her BDUs, braid flying behind her like a long silver ribbon.

A sword master from any human culture would have recognized what she was doing, and so far as that went, Optimus did too.

With repetition of the techniques, the body acquired them as muscle memory. There was no longer any need to process "if my opponent does _that_, then I must do _this_." The nanoklick saved by muscle-level reaction could be the difference between life and death.

Over time, perfecting the forms became an art in its own right—competition not against a foe, but against oneself: in the end, always one's greatest opponent.

Diarwen was quick, confident, and even through the most flamboyant of sweeping, circular moves, precise. She seemed to float from one form to the next.

Optimus watched her with the eyes of another master of the blade, seeing that she must have spent vorns achieving the virtuosity he now admired. There was never a moment when he saw her hesitate or overextend, leaving an opening for her enemy to exploit. Her stance, even in extension, never varied from the strength of perfect balance, and readiness to respond to an attack from any direction. Her blade moved as an extension of her body, both hands on the hilt for control of a sword nearly as tall as she was.

That blade was a warrior's weapon. Aside from an inscription on the blade and an intricate pattern of interwoven lines on the hilt, it was without ornamentation, a sword meant to kill or to defend, not to display at court.

No, no jewels cluttered the line of the blade, hampered the grip of the haft. Leather wrapped the grip, the better to absorb sweat, and, at need, blood: and both fluids had stained the leather black over the vorn.

She held it lightly, one with it after so many years together. It was the mark of a true swordmaster that Diarwen did not move the wrist of the hand holding the blade; she placed one foot just so or adjusted the line of her shoulders, and the blade followed her body naturally.

Diarwen began other, more difficult forms that defended against attacks coming in low, often going to one deeply flexed knee with her blade at an angle that might look awkward, though the follow-through always revealed her to be in perfect control, centered and balanced in the middle of her own power. The moves that made up those sequences, however, required her to stretch her injured legs.

After several repetitions, each one faster as she gained flexibility, she stopped for a moment in thought, then began other drills, things he had seen her do before...but differently.

Optimus understood that she was working with her body's current limitations, figuring out alternatives that minimized the danger inherent in fighting under a handicap. He, every Autobot, had done the same countless times.

It wasn't her skill alone that fascinated him, he thought. She was graceful…beautiful, as he had never applied that term to an organic. It was not wise to pay too much attention to something as ephemeral as the appearance of an organic—but then, though many things could be said of Diarwen, "ephemeral" was not one of them.

She had crossed paths with the Original Primes as a small child, before they had returned to the Well. Ultra Magnus and…Sentinel…it was odd that it still hurt even to think that designation...had remembered them, a little, though they too had only been sparklings then.

Yet, in appearance, she could easily blend in with college-age young people, where she was accepted in spite of her archaic ways and not-quite-Irish accent. Her eccentricities did not stand out among a crowd that celebrated the strange, not when she had carefully constructed a reputation as a science-fantasy geek to explain herself to them.

Pagans like Will's sister understood a little more, but Betony had told him that they had a history of protecting their own, given their background during what the mainstream called the Inquisition, and they termed the Burning Times. Still, he wondered how much of her true nature Diarwen revealed even to them.

In attitude, she fit in with the adults. She was a seasoned warrior, comfortable with Will, Epps, Graham, even Ironhide, but not yet at all ready to sit by the fire and spin tales with those whom age or debility had forced from the battlefield.

Her kind lived virtually forever unchanged—until something killed them. Cybertronians could, in theory, survive millions of years, but not without aging. It was only because they could reformat into new frames at intervals that they lived past twenty to thirty thousand human years.

He watched her learning her present capabilities and working around her injuries. He realized how likely it was that she would meet with the wrong end of a blade, as could any Autobot, any day.

In theory, they had forever. In practice, only right now.

Diarwen, as few he knew, made her "right now" shine.

When she finished her workout, Optimus realized that she had held him spellbound for the better part of an hour. Yet she had been so focused on her dance that she had paid no attention to his observation. He understood what trust that demonstrated, and felt honored by it.

The Sidhe draped her towel around her neck and opened a bottle of water. "Enjoy the show, did you?"

"I did," he replied, and sat up, stretching carefully. "There's truth to some of the stories told about the Faerie dances, isn't there?"

"It is as possible to dance a spell as to chant it in rhyme," she replied, with warm approval of his insight in her tone. "Our ancient ancestors most likely discovered that before they created language. If you want a taste of spell-dancing in modern times, watch a Maori haka sometime. Modern pagans commonly use dance to raise and help focus energy. Still, intent is necessary for any spell.—I did not mean to wake you."

"I didn't want to recharge too deeply here. I'd like to put a little more of the road behind us before we stop for the night."

"Ah. I'd thought this was our night's lodging."

"No, we're still too close to Chicago."

"Where, then?"

"If we stay on the main roads, we'll make better time. We could use several routes; if we were to skirt the lakes, we could take I-80 through Cleveland. If we went further south we could catch I-70 through Indianapolis and Columbus. Or we could go as far as Lexington to I-64, then east by way of Charleston and Norfolk."

"It all depends on where you want to cross the mountains," Diarwen replied, bending to collect her sleeping bag. "I-80 is city nearly all the way. The more southerly routes are less so. I wonder, though, if we should use the interstates at all. It will be harder to leave those roads, and for that reason they are the first place the enemy will look. I-70 is 'the' truck route across Ohio and Indiana. I should not be surprised if they had someone watching I-64 as well, as it is a main corridor for coal trucks all the way through Kentucky and West Virginia."

"That was my thought," Optimus said. He projected a map on the concrete floor and highlighted a route through farmland and a number of small-to-medium sized towns across Indiana and Ohio.

She tapped an area a little north of Cincinnati, Ohio, which was only a short way from the highway that he had chosen. "A very busy Faire is here every summer. I know this area well, and Betony, Jordan and I have friends there who would welcome us. They have a very large barn. We could show up without notice, and they would not care in the least."

"Good," he nodded. "I hope that we can reach this area"—he pointed to it—"just south of Kokomo before nightfall. Director Mearing's list has a small government property there. Apparently it has been unused for some time and only a caretaker staffs it. If you truly do not mind camping, it seems the best place to spend the night."

"I mind not at all," she said cheerfully. "A warm midsummer night under the stars is as good as life gets, for my kind."

She refilled the water bottle from a fountain, and visited the nearby restroom. While she was busy, Optimus stretched again, as much as he could, given the low ceiling. A flare of pain from his shoulder, intense enough to make itself known in spite of his muffled sensors, elicited a long string of oaths in Cybertronian. He took care that field-repaired connections were not stressed beyond their failure point as he shifted slowly into alt form.

Were it not for the very real threat of escaped Decepticons bent on revenge, he would have gladly stayed the night there.

Instead, Diarwen gathered up her things and told the soldier that they were going. They made a brief stop for her to buy a sandwich, then found a state highway going south.

Even on this two-lane road, truck traffic was fairly heavy in both directions, as drivers who knew about the shortcut used it to avoid the traffic on the Interstate system.

Diarwen had learned the CB jargon from Betony. She used it to ask one of the northbound drivers about conditions ahead.

Optimus teased her, "You sound like a good ol' girl from Alabama or Tennessee."

She laughed, a little surprised that he had a playful side because she hadn't seen very much of it before. But she gave as good as she got. "Why, I do declare! Thank you, sir!"

She happily put on the showman's persona that any bard enjoyed, keeping him distracted from what she understood from his aura must be, at the very least, a lot of discomfort.

This highway was not as well kept up as the Interstates that Optimus usually traveled, and some miles later it dropped his right front wheel into a deep pothole. The jolt hurt like the Pit, so much so that his vision grayed for a second and he swerved toward the berm.

For the first time, Diarwen caught the wheel and the gear shift. She steadied him until resistance told her he had control again, then immediately took her hands off the wheel. "I am sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I am the one who should apologize. I could have put us in the ditch right there."

"Are you all right now?"

"I think so. You do know what you're doing," he observed.

"Betony taught me. I probably would have been arrested by the INS for being an illegal if I tried to get my CDL, though."

"If I start to drift off, you can get us to the side of the road."

"Yes, but let us hope it does not become necessary."

Further CB chatter had the benefit of tying them into the long-haul truckers' web of information. Nobody paid any attention to the fact that they were new around here, because there were trucks in the area from all over the country, and many drivers who needed directions and advice about the best routes. She soon found out where the "bears" were, as well as what the road conditions were like southbound.

They stopped at a roadside rest area north of Kokomo to give Optimus a short break before getting into the city traffic. Diarwen got out to walk around a little.

The Prime looked around the run-down rest stop. Trash spilled out of a nearby can to collect near the curb, and summer-browned weeds grew through cracks in the pavement. Judging by its appearance, the place got as little use as it did care.

Still, there was something about the area that gave him a bad feeling. "Diarwen, do you see anything strange?"

She looked around more closely. "No, not exactly strange. It definitely is not a place that I would wish to remain for long. I'll have a look about. If there is something on our back trail, I want to know what it is." Her hand moved to her hip, checking that her glamoured sword was loose in its scabbard.

Optimus gave the restroom and the utility shed, the rest stop's only structures, a thorough scan. There was not a single item out of place, and that did absolutely nothing to convince him that they were safe.

He was as susceptible to after-battle jitters as anyone else, and he knew full well he probably was jumping at sensor shadows. The one time he counted on that, however, would be the time something really was there.

Diarwen checked everywhere, even the men's room, and returned to Optimus with a scowl on her face. "There's nothing there but a bad smell, and a bad feeling. Let's move on."

"Agreed."

Neither of them noted a dark shadow the size of a small dog watching them, with neither face nor eyes, from a corner of the utility shed. But as they put distance between themselves and the rest area, it was as if someone dialed up the brightness of the sunlight and lightened the summer air.

Diarwen said, "What the Decepticons did with that portal certainly—had consequences. It may be years before we know what all of them are. But for generations the shamans of this land have used its power to bind all manner of fell things. When the portal was wrenched open, the lines and vortexes of magical power were disrupted, and some of those things may have slipped between the cracks. I think we just stepped across the shadow of one such. Ordinarily I would want to hunt it down, but right now...it would not be wise to risk fully awakening something until I am once again sure of my ability to put it to rest."

There was a pause as Optimus negotiated a fell knot of traffic, complete with mothers at the wheel screaming at children in the back seats, and then he said, "I think you need to educate me on just what sort of 'fell things' are out there, and what I will need to do to fight them."

Diarwen nodded. "It would take a long while to tell you of all of them, and I do not know what the one we both sensed there might be. Many are, or were once, the spirits of beings such as ourselves, who chose a wrong path and sought to escape the natural cycle of death and rebirth. The Mother has provided weapons against them. Sunlight and fire, for the most part. Some are, like yourself, immigrants from elsewhere—but here to take, rather than give or co-exist; those, there's nothing for it but to deal with each one individually, as all are different. Some are spirits called up by the greedy and foolish. They're best sent back whence they came. Then there are the Fae of the Unseelie Court, my cousins and enemies, who share my own weaknesses, and my strengths as well. Still others were born of this world long before Sidhe or human ever walked its hills and vales, such as the dragons. They are often very powerful, but as mortal as you and I.

"These modern folk, they know little of what shares their world, and want to know even less. If their science cannot explain it, then to them it does not exist. As if their science has already discovered all that is worth knowing about this universe of ours! But they have lost much wisdom that their forebears knew to be a precious treasure."

He vented through the air-circulation system. "I suspect that most such knowledge that my people once possessed was lost when the Decepticons razed the Great Temple of Iacon and killed its priests."

"It is too easy for fools to destroy the legacy of generations," she acknowledged. "I will teach you what I can, my friend, but I am no lore-master myself. We will have to light our own way as we go."

"Well, Primus knows we both have enough experience to do that." She could almost feel his optics sliding to meet hers, and a swift grin crossing his lip-plates. "So far, at least, we have managed."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Night was falling, and both of them were weary when they finally found the US government property they were allowed to camp in that night. It was a large farm, one of many in the area. Most of them produced corn, hogs, or both.

This one produced weeds higher than Optimus' hood. A gravel driveway occasionally peeked through somewhat shorter weeds, and led up to a ramshackle house and barn, both long abandoned by the looks of them, Diarwen thought.

Optimus decided he would need a very good reason to go into that barn, which might convert a decades-long slouch into a fall at any second.

In the front yard of the old house, there was a beaten-up RV, which hadn't moved in years, sitting on cement blocks. It had electricity hooked up, though, and from the electrical fields he knew someone was inside.

Then the screen door opened and a big fellow came out. By "big," Optimus meant "small bot-sized." Actually, this man might have been a little taller than Chromia's nine feet, and he was extremely muscular, proportioned more like Ironhide, or even Optimus himself, though only a third his height. He bent over, keeping his hand near the collar of the St. Bernard that was currently giving Optimus a suspicious glare, its teeth showing and its breath muttering in its throat.

Diarwen's hands clenched on his steering wheel. "Fomor-spawn!" she whispered. "What is going on here?"

"I don't know, but if you wish, we will leave."

Diarwen heard the note of exhaustion in his voice, and if he was revealing that much he had to be ready to drop. She squared her shoulders. She could handle any trouble presented by one by-blow of a Fomor and a…whatever would sleep with a Fomor. "Let's see what he has to say when he smells Sidhe blood. I'll keep the peace if he does."

She stepped gracefully to the ground. When the caretaker realized what she was, he grabbed his dog's collar. "Whatta _you_ want?"

"Somewhere to stay the night, that only."

He stared at Optimus. "Wait a minnit—you're him, from the TV!"

Optimus carefully transformed, with equal care concealing all weakness from a potential adversary. "I am Optimus Prime. I was told that we would be allowed to camp here."

He nodded. "Name's Arag. Folks round here know me as Erik Brown." He looked at Diarwen, and sniffed. After a moment he said something in broken Sidhe.

Diarwen looked startled, but replied in her own tongue, then translated, "He has offered us guest-right and I have accepted. What that means is that I am here under truce, and so long as I keep it, we are as members of his household."

She got into her bag of food and gave him an apple, which he took gently from her much smaller hand. Through his acceptance of her gift of food, they sealed the pact between guest and host. This was a custom that humans still followed, though its origins had long been lost: guests brought with them a bottle of wine or a dessert.

"I am Diarwen," she said, stifling an urge to wipe the hand on her BDUs.

"You're one o' the Seelie Queen's Own Guard! I thought you all got killed by the black robes."

"Not all of us," she replied shortly.

He nodded, and launched into his duties as a host. "Well's over there, necessary's behind t'old house. Anythin' else I c'n do fer ya?"

Diarwen replied, "No, we will be fine. Thank you."

The caretaker and took his dog back into his camper. Diarwen and Optimus swiftly made a cold camp; the grass was too dry to risk a fire.

The Sidhe took a quick trip to the outhouse, then made a meal of pemmican and a box of milk. Tidying away the wrappings, she said, "I'll take first watch."

It had never occurred to either of them not to set a guard, guest-right or no. Optimus set a proximity alarm and excluded Diarwen, so that she could cross its perimeter without waking him, then at long last let himself drop into a very welcome recharge.

Diarwen, for her part, sat quietly on her sleeping bag. She was extremely curious about what their host had to do with the government, and why they owned this abandoned farm in the first place, Fomor-kin aside.

Sometime later, the lights in the camper went out. All around them, the night wind rippled the tall grass like waves on a dark, quiet sea. In the distance, the tall barns of neighboring farms rose like black islands against the darkening sky. One by one the stars came out.

Everything was quiet, but Diarwen's distrust of their host was such that she had no trouble staying awake in spite of her weariness. She let Optimus rest most of the night, guessing correctly that he would recharge for a full joor if she left him alone. He needed it more than she did.

For his part, he let her sleep as well until Arag came out with a bucket of corn for his chickens. The Fomor-kin said, "She won't be wantin' anythin' I fixed, but when herself be wakin' up, tell 'er I got biscuits and ham tha' she can have. I keep th' old ways, she's free t'board at me table while she has guest-right in me holdin's."

"I'll tell her."

Arag shifted his feet. "There's naught between yer folk an' mine. I ask o' ye, stay out o' the troubles me grandmother's folk had wi' hers unless ye have somethin' o' yer own t' lay at our doorstep, aye? Long years passed, lot o' blood spilled, but t'was then not now, innit?"

"Fair enough, Arag. My people have no quarrel with yours, and I'd be glad to keep it that way, if I can."

"Well said, milord," the Fomor replied, ducking his head. "Wha' I said about boardin' at me table goes for ye as well. I don't know what I 'ave tha' ye'd be wantin', but if there's anythin' ye've but t'ask."

"I can't think of anything, but I thank you for the offer, all the same."

Their voices woke Diarwen. She opened her eyes to find that Optimus had casually positioned himself between herself and their host.

Grateful for his shield, she moved her hand to her knife hilt. When she could hear Arag's chickens squawking at him from behind the old house, and the rumble of his voice as he scattered corn for them, she got out of her sleeping bag. With the wisdom of an experienced camper, she upended her boots and gave them a couple of sharp whacks before putting them on.

To Optimus, watching in bemusement, she said, "If something had made itself at home in there, it wouldn't be the first time." She lowered her voice, trusting his superior senses to pick up her words where Arag could not. "And thank you for the shield of yourself, Optimus. I mislike the idea of that one watching me sleep."

He made no reply, merely nodded.

She gave their host a stiff but courteous bow when he returned from his errand. "Fair morn to you, Goodman Arag. May the Mother bless you for your hospitality to strangers in your lands."

The tall fellow returned her bow. "An' grant ye safe journey, milady. Ye were sleepin', but as I told milord, I had biscuits an' ham fer me breakfast, an' there's more if ye want some."

Diarwen shook her head. "It's too early in my morning, but I thank you."

Arag bowed in his turn and continued on to the RV, dog at his side.

Diarwen quickly bundled her sleeping bag and tarp into a neat bedroll, and tossed it to Optimus to subspace for her. Knowing he would guard her back, she drew a bucket of water from the well to wash up. After washing, the water having wakened her as well as the coffee or tea she would have preferred, the Sidhe put two twenty-dollar bills under a rock on the top step of the RV. It was insulting to offer money directly for guest-right, but at the same time it was customary to leave a modest parting gift, never as much as one would have paid for lodging at an inn.

The niceties observed, she and Arag were now free of obligations to one another, just as they both preferred.

Diarwen stopped halfway up to Optimus' driver's seat to give the backs of her thighs a brisk rub. "I'll bet those bruises look like I've had every shade of purple and yellow paint tossed at my arse by now," she grumbled.

Optimus, whose IR scans had showed him exactly that, laughed. "You might say so." His engine came to life smoothly enough, though he wasn't happy with the indicators that lit up his HUD. With a courteous tap of his horn, he turned and headed back down the long gravel driveway. After a time, he said, "The man can't help who his grandmother was."

Diarwen sighed, and settled into the driver's seat. "Well I know it, Optimus. I am not proud that I judged him by his blood. I've been across a battlefield from his grandmother's people too often—and worse, buried what was left of common-folk whose villages they raided. Once you see a half-eaten body, you never forget it, and I was but a squire on my first patrol when I dug a grave in frozen earth for a dozen such. Women, children, for the most part. That will never leave me, I think."

Optimus was silent for a moment. "No, that kind of thing never does," he said in a low rumble. "The Decepticons had a deep hatred for the high-caste tower mechs who had abused them for many vorns, but they did not spare the innocent sparklings or the serving-bots when the towers fell. What I saw...there can never be any justification for that. I am not saying your hatred has no cause, Lady, far from it. Only that we must choose to end it somewhere. To judge individuals by their own actions."

Diarwen nodded. "You are wise, my friend." She sighed again. "Forgive me if it takes me a long while for courtesy to the Fomor and their kin to come from my heart rather than the demands of chivalrous behavior. I fear that the old conflict between our peoples must end in civility on my part, rather than forgiveness."

"I understand. Sometimes that's the best anyone can be expected to do."

They headed southeast, driving further into the morning as the miles of cornfields and small towns rolled behind them.

End Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Disclaimers in Part 1

Three blessedly uneventful hours later, northeast of Cincinnati, Ohio, Diarwen told Optimus to turn onto a gravel driveway.

Past a thick screen of oak and maple trees in the heavy blue-green leaf of midsummer, the driveway passed between a circular farm pond with ducks paddling near its small, weathered dock on one side and a large kitchen garden sporting a straw-stuffed scarecrow on the other.

On up the lane a rambling old farmhouse had once been an ordinary plain Colonial home, but over the years had gained a number of additions, each with a different kind of siding. All the paint was supposedly white, but to Optimus' optics each addition was a different shade of light blue or pale yellow.

The yard boasted a riot of flowers and herb patches, as well as a clothesline, which today was hung with bedsheets that flapped like sails in the summer breeze. The delicate notes of a wind chime sounded from the back porch.

Beyond the house was the huge old barn that Diarwen had promised. Its doors were open at both ends to admit the breeze, for its stone chimney carried smoke away from a forge.

A man was shoeing a stocky black horse inside that barn as they pulled in. Its lead was held by a younger man.

Optimus stopped far enough away to avoid spooking the horse, or so he hoped; aside from police horses, as brave as their riders, he had met only the horses that drew carriage tours around big city parks. Those creatures always turned to look straight at him, snorting and stamping their feet. He had learned to avoid them, rather than risk having them run away with a carriage full of tourists behind them. This one gave him a suspicious look and snorted once, but he stayed far enough away that the two men were able to calm it.

When Diarwen climbed out of his cab, a woman yelled her name from the kitchen door, and came running. She was heavy-set, perhaps in her mid-fifties, and she wore a flour-dusted apron over her jeans and tie-dyed halter top, trailing long braids and a scent of patchouli after herself.

To Diarwen, it was as though she had stepped back into the sixties—a wonderful time, as far as she had been concerned. "Moonsilver!" she said, enveloped in and returning a fierce hug. "It's been so long."

To Optimus, it was as if he had taken a wrong turn into one of the NEST soldiers' Twilight Zone DVDs. He was fairly sure the 1960's had happened fifty years ago...hadn't they?

The smith finished with the horse, which was trotted up and down in front of him. He nodded to the younger man, visibly his son, who was doing the trotting, and joined his wife as the horse was returned to its pasture. "Diarwen! What are you doing here? And driving a truck—is Betony in there?"

"No, Mike. It's a long story. I'm not staying long. But if we could use your barn for a few hours I'd be in your debt."

"You'll use the barn as long as you want and you won't be in any debt. Let me move the tractor."

"Have you been watching the news from Chicago the last few days?"

"Our youngest daughter Lisa's been getting some of it on her computer. We don't have TV, you know."

"Have you seen anything about the Autobots?"

"They're the ones who got those poor people out of that garage, aren't they?" Michael asked.

"That was Ironhide and Sideswipe, yes."

Moonsilver's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, my Goddess! I thought there was another aura! Diarwen, why didn't you tell me first thing you'd brought someone here who was hurt! Mike, get that tractor out of the way, shoo! Trace, you move that old harrow!"

They did so, while Moonsilver rushed to relocate two ladders that normally led to the loft. Michael, returning, collected a tool box and a couple of buckets scattered about the floor.

Once they were under roof, Diarwen made introductions. Michael's eyes were as wide as saucers as Optimus transformed, but Moonsilver wanted only to know what they needed and what she could do to help, as if space aliens turned up on her doorstep every other Tuesday.

Optimus, for his part, would not have been surprised to learn that they did.

Michael took Diarwen to his forge, handling his materials very carefully as he showed her something. He must, Optimus realized, be aware of her issues in dealing with iron.

Diarwen seemed very interested in the collection of items that he kept in a small alcove above his forge. The Sidhe yearned over a carefully wrought and painted statuette of a woman working at a forge, who wore a bright green embroidered tunic, decorated with a pattern of interwoven lines, under her smith's apron, saying, "Oh, She's so beautiful, I wish I could hold Her!"

Michael said, "If I had the tools I'd make a copy of Her for you in silver, but She called me to ironwork, not silversmithing."

Moonsilver, remaining by Optimus' side, tilted her face to his and said kindly, "From what I saw on the CNN site, I knew it was awful up there...but you've really been through it, haven't you? Both of you."

He acknowledged as much with a nod. "We are on our way to our Washington DC base. Our medic needs to see me there."

She looked at him the same way Diarwen often did, or Ratchet, for that matter. He had the disconcerting feeling that he was an open datapad to all three of them.

"Well, then. Stay as long as you like," she smiled. "Blessed be." She patted his leg, which was somehow a reassuring touch, and went to the forge to claim Diarwen, taking her up to the farmhouse.

Michael continued to work. It didn't seem to have occurred to him that the noise could be a nuisance, but fortunately, to Optimus it was not: he turned down his audials in that range, and relaxed. He was used to resting when the opportunity presented itself, as any soldier was. He drifted off to the blacksmith's hammer ringing like a bell as Moonsilver's burly husband worked.

The next thing Optimus knew, he was in the cavernous expanse of a Cybertronian workshop. A femme was working at an anvil, much as Michael had been when Optimus fell into recharge. Her armor, of a style so ancient it was no longer in use, was a luminous green, as were her bright optics. She had hundreds of glyphs engraved in intricately intertwined patterns spiraling around each of those antiquated armor plates.

Her field patterns were those of a Prime, but she was neither one of the Six nor any of those who had followed them. He bowed to her and said, "Apologies, my Lady, I feel that I should know you."

"Not yet, my son. But you will. You should be resting, not spirit walking." Her voice was strong and gentle, without other overtones, and her Cybertronian had Diarwen's accent.

"I don't know what you mean."

"What was Primus thinking? You had to sink or swim, didn't you? Well, never mind that just now. You need to be recharging. I will help. When you waken, describe what you've seen to Diarwen and Michael. They'll tell you who I am, and a little about how you got here."

"But I-"

She smiled, as if he were a sparkling complaining of being sent to his berth. There was a warm sense of love and safety, and then the darkness surrounded him again.

When next Optimus wakened, the bright sun through the barn door told him it was late afternoon. His internal clock might confirm that, but the summer sun, he realized, was a much more pleasant way of telling the time. He felt rested, his energy fields knitting themselves back together as they hadn't since Chicago, and there was much less discomfort from his shoulder.

He remembered the dream...most bots did not dream in the way that humans did. They replayed memories or worked through various resolutions to problems that had been troubling them while they were awake. Only Primes dreamed of things that had nothing to do with their own experiences, and those were usually messages from the other side.

Optimus knew that other Primes had had the gift of prophecy, usually in dreams, but that gift had so far been denied him.

Then his optics fell on the small alcove above Michael's forge, and the statuette that had captured Diarwen's interest. Suddenly he was sure he knew who she-no, She-was, and an internet image search confirmed his suspicions.

If that experience had been real, then he had just met Brigit.

Michael was putting an edge on a sword blade. He looked up when he realized Optimus was awake, smiled and nodded.

"Michael."

The smith returned the blade to a rack with several others. "Afternoon, Optimus. How are you doing?"

"Better, I think. Where is Diarwen?"

"Up to the house helping Sil. She's making candles and baked goods that our oldest daughter, Calliegh, sells at a booth at the Faire."

"Michael, is this area dedicated to your Goddess?"

"Not my forge only, I'm Brigit's man. Why do you ask?"

"Because as glitched as it sounds, I think She came to me in a dream."

Michael nodded. "It's possible. She's come to me twice. Once to call me to Her forge, and the other time when my oldest son was killed in Afghanistan."

"I'm sorry for your loss.—She said you could explain."

"I'll try." He upended a barrel and sat down, waiting with a craftsman's patience for Optimus to put his thoughts into words.

"I saw Her as a femme—a woman—of my species."

"The Old Ones can appear however They want. Diarwen sees Her as one of her kind. Brigit is the Goddess of smiths and bards, of war in defense against aggressors, and of motherhood and healing and home. The Catholics call Her Saint Brigit."

"She said that I was spirit-walking. What did She mean by that?"

"Astral projection. Some people believe it happens in dreams all the time. Some people can do it deliberately while they're awake. If you have the talent, I'm not surprised it happened here. I often cast the circle in here when I'm forging an athame for someone. What's within a cast circle is sacred space, between the worlds, not entirely of this reality.—Are you dedicated to a specific Deity?" Michael asked.

"Yes, to Primus. Although I'm beginning to understand that I have a great deal to learn about what that means."

"In this case, it means it's easier for you to slip between the worlds, especially if you're hurt and tired, and in a place like this one where the veil is thinned through my work here. But you're right...no matter how much you ever think you know about Them, They'll still surprise you. I've been on this path a long time, not just this lifetime. There's always a lot to learn, and usually we learn it by screwing up the lessons They assign us, until we finally get it right."

Michael's grin was that of a schoolboy, someone immersed in learning, yet still filled with the joy of life. There was that about that grin which made Optimus think the burly blacksmith loved the unending series of new discoveries and personal growth that Optimus himself knew was the life of a high priest.

They heard the screen door bang, and then Diarwen and Moonsilver talking as they crossed the barnyard. Michael advised, "You should ask Sil and Diarwen. I know what spirit-walking is. They practice it."

The two women left the bright sunshine for the shade of the barn. The forge fire was banked now, so the breeze admitted by the wide doors kept the building's shadowy interior a little cooler than the rest of the farm here in high summer.

Sil gave Michael a dark brown muffin. "Tell me what you think."

He took an experimental bite, then nodded enthusiastically. "New recipe?"

She laughed. "New to me. Calleigh got it from a friend of hers at the Faire. Since you like them, I'll make them for our Litha cakes and ale."

"Everyone will love them." He proved it by eating every last crumb and looking hopefully for another one.

Moonsilver shook her head in affection. "What's going on, honey? It feels serious in here."

"I think you need to put on your High Priestess hats, my Ladies. Our guest has some questions."

They looked at each other, then sat down side by side on a tack bench, eyes on Optimus in a way that reminded him very much of his first teachers so many vorns ago on Cybertron.

He told them about the entire dream, even the rather embarrassing part about Primus having left him to sink or swim.

"There was a lot of truth that statement. The vagaries of war denied me the religious education that the Temple of Primus once provided young Primes. Sentinel...was what I became...but I knew no better than to trust him."

Diarwen immediately leapt to a defense against his own condemnation. "You became no such thing! If anything, you became what Sentinel only pretended to be. I know you—I faced that rutting warlock over naked blades—I tell you that you are nothing like him!"

Eyes met and held optics, and did not drop. Both were tired and injured, and neither was a compliant personality.

Sil's quiet voice calmed them both. "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

He hesitated, unwilling to burden Diarwen with the details. "I had an experience two years ago that was very similar. I encountered the...I suppose you would call them the Elders of our race, my earliest predecessors."

Both women gave him a sharp look. It was clear that he was leaving out more than he was telling. But they left it.

"Never other than that? You've never tried to spirit-walk intentionally?"

"No."

Moonsilver said, "The talent you're describing has always been common among the shamans and priests of Earth. Most people now call it astral projection. There are a lot of ways to get into the state of consciousness necessary for it; everything from ritual and meditation to the sacred ingestion of mind-altering drugs has been used through the years. I couldn't begin to guess what your traditions are, but I can sympathize with losing your religious heritage."

"Diarwen has told me something of the Burning Times, and what followed."

"She lived through it; for me, it's history that happened generations ago," Sil replied. She gave Diarwen's arm a gentle squeeze. "The best advice that I can give you is this: let Diarwen teach you, and trust your Deity to guide you. In the meanwhile, I'll give you a charm that will help to keep you grounded until you learn what you're doing. Give me a moment to go back to the house and get it." She rose from the tack bench, and briskly returned to the house, her husband's eyes following her.

Diarwen said, "Of course I'll teach you all I can, but not until Ratchet says you're well enough. It isn't going to be easy. And before I tell you anything else—don't believe everything you find on 'witchy' sites on the Internet. Some are very factual and others are downright dangerous. You do need to protect yourself. Not everything out there in the astral is friendly to us, and some things are very powerful."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised. "But I certainly can't say I'm sorry this happened."

"I should say not," Diarwen smiled. "It is a privilege to visit Them. But, as the Lady told you, now was a bad time for it. We still have a long journey."

"Yes." He moved a bit to ease his shoulder. "I hope to get to a town called Marietta to spend the night. One of the NEST agents' family lives there. They have a construction company with a large private lot, and Colonel Lennox has arranged for us to stay with them. The agent's wife is a nurse. I think it would be a good idea to have her check your legs."

She nodded. "I was on my feet a little too much in the kitchen today. But when Sil realized, she put me in an Epsom salts soak. That helped a lot."

They fell into a comfortable silence in the warm air.

Moonsilver returned from the farmhouse with what looked at first glance like a short string of beads. However, Optimus could perceive that the object had an energy field—a strong one.

Sil smiled when she realized that he had seen more than the obvious about it, and when she spoke, it was in her teacher's voice. "Over the years, witches have discovered that different stones have an affinity for different kinds of magical effects. When I was younger and just learning to project, my teacher gave it to me. Now, you need it more than I do. What can you tell me about it?"

He scanned. "The stones are an opal and a clear quartz crystal. The chain is silver. There's an energy field, but I can't tell you what it does."

Sil nodded. "Opal both facilitates projection, and protects. Clear quartz is useful for many things; in this case it serves as a battery of sorts, one that holds the magickal charge for the entire charm. It will ward you, and prevent you from accidentally wandering. Once you've learned what you're doing, you'll be able to use it as a protective device, but by then I doubt you'll need it. When the time comes to pass it forward, you'll know."

"Thank you, Lady Moonsilver."

If he hadn't been able to sense the energy field for himself, Optimus would have been inclined to think the whole thing was impossible. But he had seen Diarwen's spells do too many incredible things to dismiss any magic that he could sense.

Sil gave Diarwen a quart of milk and a paper bag containing some of the muffins she'd made. "You're more than welcome to stay another day. In fact, stay another few days and celebrate Litha with us."

Diarwen said, "We would do so gladly, Sil, but we should have a certain medic fetching us to Washington if we tried!"

Optimus laughed. "That's true! It's also true that I don't want to be on these back roads after dark any more than necessary. It's dangerous; too many blind curves."

Michael nodded. He was familiar with driving his large pickup, hauling a trailer filled with his heavy traveling forge and equally weighty blacksmith's tools, to farms and fairgrounds all over Southern Ohio and Kentucky. Often, a two-lane byway hugged vertical rock cuts. There was no way to see what was around the bend; if some fool happened to be in your lane, there was little you could do about it. Often it wasn't your own driving you had to worry about—it was the other person's, the one who was shouting at kids in the back seat, or chattering on a cell phone.

Diarwen spread her arms to hug both their hosts goodbye. Sil brushed back her silver hair and kissed her forehead, obviously a mother of daughters. "Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again. May the peace of the Goddess be ever in your heart."

"And in yours, Lady Moonsilver," Diarwen replied.

Michael gave Optimus a long, level look, and then glanced at Diarwen. The Prime nodded. Without a word having been spoken, Michael had given him orders to watch out for Diarwen, and told him that he had loved her as a daughter in more than just this lifetime. Optimus could not promise to keep a fellow warrior safe, but anything that threatened her threatened them both, and that was enough for Michael, who nodded in return.

The smith and his wife stood waving as the pair headed down the driveway and disappeared around the bend.

Sil shook her head. "They've got a dark road ahead of them, Mike."

"Trust the Gods to carry them through it," he said. "We'd better get garbed and take your goodies up to the fairgrounds. Calleigh won't be happy if she runs out of muffins when the supper crowd starts showing up."

The High Priestess shook her head and said a little prayer to Brigit, before she helped her husband lock up the barn.

End Part 4


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

Disclaimers in Part 1

Optimus asked Diarwen, "Could you put Moonsilver's charm in the glove compartment, please? I don't know what effect subspacing it might have."

She did so, fighting back an avid Fae curiosity about what he might keep in that glove box. "Since I have no idea how subspace actually works, I believe I shall agree with you. Where do you wish to go now?"

"Southeast on this road a few miles to Wilmington, then east on US 22."

Diarwen said, "That takes us near I-71."

"Right over it, but we don't have an option. There are most likely energon detectors at all the off-ramps. If the 'Cons are going to pick up our trail, it will be there. Several roads cross at Wilmington, which isn't far past the interstate. I hope we can lose any pursuit there."

Diarwen prepared herself to shield them. "Tell me when we're just out of its range. I can't hold a glamour this powerful for long, but it should help."

That concerned him. "Diarwen, should your magic be taking so long to return?"

"I have no way of knowing. I may have burnt myself out, Optimus, it can happen." She paused, ordering what she had to say. "A person, a person of any race, can be like a circuit. We can all take only so much current, and I was the focus of an...an incredible surge of power. I thought I would burn alive when I channeled it. I know Fire well, but this was not just Fire, it was—Mother Herself made use of me that day. Understand me," she said earnestly, "I was blessed to have called Her down in such a way, but after having been used as the tool of a much greater entity, I may never again be able to wield more than an infinitesimal amount of power."

"What would happen to you if that were so?"

She considered. "I would go on as I am now. I'm not bereft of all my ability, I'm fine with the small to mid-range things. Unless and until I recover fully, I shall have to be more judicious with any major energy work. It's still very early days yet. It isn't unheard of for my people to take a decade or more to recover."

"We're coming up on that underpass now."

Diarwen did something with their fields, something that caused a haze to form around him which apparently only she and Optimus could see. The drivers of the cars around him nearby, though, noticed nothing. Whatever she had done was not in the range of human sight.

Sweat broke out on her brow almost immediately. "This isn't good...I do not think the glamour is concealing us completely."

"Even if they spot us, we will lose them in Wilmington," he said with calm certainty.

They crossed a viaduct over the four-lane and left the detector behind them. He told her when they were out of its range, and Diarwen let the glamour fall and fell back in the seat.

She was trembling with exhaustion. For the first time Optimus understood what she had meant when she spoke of depleting her magical energy. She had not used the word "crippled," but it was quite possible that she had been left with a wound that would never heal.

She had taken that wound for his kind, and for this world. A world she loved, he knew, but equally a world where humans had hunted her people to extinction, forcing them beyond it, leaving Diarwen alone within its borders.

Optimus had much to think on concerning this Sidhe femme.

But he put that thought aside as they went on. Past the Interstate, they traveled several miles through fields and woodlots before they began to see more traffic, and the houses were built closer together.

Wilmington, Ohio was a small town no different from many others that they had passed through in the last few days, frame and brick homes, a downtown with two and three story storefronts, many now vacant. Optimus had never seen Wilmington before, only heard of it, and that only because outside town there was a private airport. Once a military base, now it belonged to an air freight company, and had a runway long enough to accommodate NEST's C-130s.

Neither of them took note of the town. Optimus was not sufficiently healed either to engage in or evade combat, and Diarwen knew herself minimally able to use sword or magic to assist him. The presence of pursuit was their greatest concern; neither saying a word, they kept a watch on approaches both aerial and earth-bound.

On the far side of town, streets and houses gave way to a patchwork of fields and the occasional wooded lot. The land here was low, rolling hills, not the flat plain of Illinois and Indiana, but there was still almost no cover. If a 'Con closed within visual range, there would be little chance of evasion. On the other hand, it would be easy to remove the confrontation from the road and its innocent bystanders into one of the soybean fields.

Diarwen sighed.

Optimus asked, "Are you very tired?"

Instead of answering him, she asked, "Will we cross the interstate again?"

"Not until tomorrow, in Marietta."

She nodded. "I am thinking that I may just scout ahead and knock down an energon detector. Or perhaps three."

"How would deactivating them be any less suspicious than setting them off?"

She shrugged. "No less suspicious, but it would serve to better confuse our trail, and keep our theoretical pursuers driving in circles in Marietta instead of chasing after us. Since we cannot be sure we avoided them, and right now I cannot vouch for my effectiveness in shielding us, better to attack three, and let them puzzle out which way we went from there."

"True."

"Tell me something. How did all of you travel from Florida to Chicago without setting them off?"

"That was an inside job. The President arranged for someone within Homeland Security to intercept the alarms. I don't want to do that again, because we are serving as bait for the Decepticons. I would rather that the 'Cons chanced setting off the alarms themselves."

"How are the Decepticons avoiding it?"

"The same way we will, after we leave Marietta. There is heavily wooded territory all the way from there—from Lancaster, really—to the east coast. I'll have to find a place far from the detectors to hide, where I can transform to root mode and wait for a chance to cross."

Diarwen cocked her head to one side, and asked his rear-view mirror, "But how will you get from your cover to the interstate?"

"Many dirt roads were cut off when the interstates were built. Most have been abandoned for years now, and are all but impassable for ordinary vehicles. They see next to no use, for that reason."

"You will have to cross late at night, then, to be unseen."

"Yes."

"How likely do you think it is that we were detected?"

"If you're right that your spell failed, then they know someone tripped the detector. If they scattered, then they can't know whether I did it, or one of their own."

"But if their departure from Chicago was any sort of organized retreat, then they know precisely where we were and when," the Sidhe replied. "And the fact that they all disappeared at once supports that theory."

"Exactly." He paused for a few moments. "It's always better," he finally said diffidently, "to plan for the worst, and be pleasantly surprised by better than that, than the opposite."

Her hand drifted to her sword hilt. "I find that I have little patience for playing the hare to their hounds. I should be truly tempted to set a trap for them on ground of my choosing, if there were anything around besides farmers' fields."

"The occasional woodlot is the only cover we are likely to find this side of Lancaster, Ohio. According to the online maps, the terrain becomes more hilly and forested there. We are unlikely to be able to turn the odds to our favor in this open countryside."

"I defer to you, my friend. You know yourself, and our enemies, far better than I."

"What sort of trap did you have in mind?"

"A hunter's blind. I'd see what stalks us—and then the hunted becomes the hunter. How near do you have to be to sense one another, without direct sight?"

"The seekers have the greatest range, and neither Skywarp nor Blitzwing were found among the dead. They are unlikely to be flying in this airspace, though."

"Not unless they want to meet Sir Tomahawk again," she agreed. "Among the grounders, then?"

"Perhaps one hundred meters, to have a suspicion. They would have to be closer to be certain. As do organics, we depend heavily on sight and hearing. Although scent, particularly for a scout build, can be a giveaway too. Being downwind of a possible approach vector is always good."

"That is better than I'd hoped."

"I want several shots at them before they can close with us."

"High ground, then."

"Yes."

"If we must fight them here..." she paused, thinking.

"If it is either of the seekers, or Barricade, I have little chance against them but I believe I could delay them long enough for you to escape—"

"If you think me craven enough to desert you—!" the Sidhe exclaimed.

"I do not...but I see no need for both of us to die in a hopeless battle."

"Then you flee. Go back to your people, who desperately need you, and let me go to mine in a battle that will be remembered."

There was a long, fraught silence, fueled by glares on both sides. Then she had the sense that, had he been in root mode, Optimus would have dropped his optics. "I could no more desert you," he admitted.

"Then perhaps between us we might manage to make them sorry indeed they decided to hunt today," Diarwen said. After a moment, she looked up. "Barricade? The police car, that Barricade?" She remembered an accounting of who had last been seen where the day of the battle, when they had first been trying to regroup. "Bumblebee said you killed him."

"I thought I had, as he was one of their front-liners on Wacker Drive. I know I hit him and he went down, but when Sideswipe and Ironhide went back to help Jolt move Sunstreaker, Barricade was gone."

"It may be that he is wounded as well."

"I'm sure of that much, but apparently he wasn't hurt so badly that he couldn't get out of there without being caught. It's possible that he was more stunned than hurt."

Optimus truly did not know the extent of the injuries he had inflicted. He had dealt Barricade what should have been a fatal blow, but he had not stopped to see the Decepticon fall. Anyone could sidestep, or he might simply have misjudged the distance and amount of force he applied. There had been another enemy, and another after that; he had not stopped to be sure "down" was "out."

Diarwen too knew that anything could happen in such a melee as Chicago had been. She tried to remember if she had seen the black and white Decepticon when Ironhide carried her through the battlefield, but she wasn't really clear about anything from the time she sealed the gate until she saw Optimus and Sentinel fighting on the bridge. "I...know not. It's all a blur now."

For a long moment, they fell silent. The memories of that awful day were still too fresh to be comfortably relived.

There was not much traffic, and nothing suspicious. They took a short break in a community called Lancaster, a larger place than most of the towns they had passed through, where they were able to get far enough off the main roads to be relatively safe. Optimus parked in an alley between two large stores; if he did not remain long, each might think he had business with the other. He would attract too much attention if he transformed here, but he could relax without spectators to notice him shifting his weight or settling on his suspension in a way that no real semi tractor did. Diarwen left briefly, and returned with a large plastic refill cup of coffee bearing the logo of some local donut shop. She murmured an apology and placed it briefly on his bumper to dust powdered sugar from her hands before she returned to his cab.

East of Lancaster, they left US 22 and turned onto Ohio 37, here also known as East Main Street. They passed a few large factory buildings, then more fields of corn and soybeans. But wooded areas were becoming more common and the hills steeper.

Past New Lexington they came to an area where the timber had been clear cut for about two hundred meters from the road to the slope of a hill. Diarwen asked, "What do you think of this as a battle site?"

Optimus considered. It wasn't really the high ground that he had hoped for, but the forest was heavy enough that no one would see him from the road. If he and Diarwen chose to confront a Decepticon here, their enemy would have to cross that clear cut to get to them.

They could also decide to let anyone following them pass by, then double back and travel a different way from Lancaster.

"It isn't perfect, strategically, but it will do."

This was second-growth forest; the last logging had been done long enough ago for the trees to grow tall again. The understory was heavy brush, curtains of wild grape vines, younger trees, and thickets of briars. From the road, it was a green wall; to Optimus, transparent.

He backed up to a gravel road that led into the trees and ensured that he was well out of view of both roads, and that there were no human energies nearby, before he transformed. A geotagged photo posted on the Internet could reduce all their fine plans to nothing.

Optimus found a good place to wait beyond that green wall, hidden by briars but free of anything that would block a clear shot. Diarwen picked her own spot far enough away to give him plenty of room to move.

She brushed her hand over her sword and dagger, assuring herself that each was loose in its sheath, then strung her bow. Having only a few mithril-headed arrows left, she chose one with a common broadhead.

Optimus had heard her curse those as impossible to enchant. She meant to shoot for the optics then, and wait until her target closed to call fire to her sword. He remembered how much of an effort trying to glamour the two of them at the Interstate crossing had been; she would not want to maintain the flame for long.

She would wait until the last moment to attack, probably after he had already engaged, and then she would make one quick, lethal strike. Optimus began to hope that, between them, they might be able to come through this.

An hour passed—an hour of rest that they both needed.

Then they heard a heavy engine well before they saw the vehicle that it belonged to, a logging truck—with the Decepticon sigil on its grill. Optimus cursed. That had to be Blitzwing's partner Lugnut. Where you saw one, the other was usually nearby, but Lugnut was trouble enough on his own. He was known more for brawn than brains, but definitely deserved his reputation as a fearsome front-liner. In Optimus' condition, if he allowed the behemoth Decepticon to close, he would have no chance.

Should they avoid Lugnut now, and he find them again later in a populated area, innocent people would get caught up in the fight. They might never find a better place to take him on. And Blitzwing was not here—ten minutes from now that could be another story.

Exactly what Lugnut was doing in a ground alt was a mystery for another time.

Optimus lined up his shot. Ordinarily he would have counted on his ion cannon to put anyone down if he had the time for a placed shot like this, but he was able to fire the weapon only at half power, if that. Even so, the impact knocked the big 'Con off the road, to land wheels up in a marsh.

Lugnut transformed as he got up and charged, roaring every curse he knew. Optimus fired again, but as dumb as the 'Con might be, he had the good sense to zigzag. The blast barely tagged him.

Diarwen had better luck. An arrow whistled out of the trees and hit Lugnut right in his main optic.

Optimus burst from cover out of the forest into the rough clear-cut, igniting his axe in mid-swing. Lugnut stepped into his attack, blocking the haft with a heavily armored forearm, and punched him.

The Prime's already damaged armor couldn't fully compensate for the force pulse that accompanied the blow. He had the skill to ground a lot of it; still, his HUD turned solid red with overlapping error messages.

He had no room to swing his axe in a fight this close, and a blow with his bad servo would have been worse than useless. He dropped the axe, and in the same motion extended his punch dagger to stab the Decepticon between two armor plates on his right side.

Energon sprayed over both of them, but Lugnut instinctively twisted to avoid fatal damage, and trapped the dagger. Optimus had to eject it; but he shifted his weight, throwing Lugnut to the ground, and landed a solid kick.

When the Decepticon went down, Diarwen called fire to her blade and attacked, going for an energon line. Lugnut slapped at her, a lethal blow if it had landed, and missed by a hair.

Optimus took full advantage of the few second's grace her distraction gave him, as well as the room he now had to fight, and took up his axe.

A shadow fell over all of them. Blitzwing's talon crushed Diarwen against Lugnut, hard enough that she could feel the links of her mail shirt digging into her skin even through the padding she wore. The seeker's thrusters roared at maximum power to get Lugnut off the ground, blasting logging debris everywhere. The rush of air momentarily blinded Diarwen, who threw an arm across her eyes to shield them.

Blitzwing labored under his partner's massive weight, but Optimus dared not fire with Diarwen pinned between the seeker's claw and Lugnut's armor. He crossed the clear-cut and the highway.

The chaos of air-borne debris around her face died away, and Diarwen risked a glance around her. She saw the shimmer of water under her and, deciding that she'd rather hit it than the ground, she drove her knife into Blitzwing's talon joint. When he recoiled, she dropped forty feet into a strip-mine pond.

It felt like hitting solid concrete, but then water closed over her head and she flailed to bring herself to the surface. Thrashing, she gasped for air, before her chain shirt and wet clothes dragged her under again.

Seconds later, another metal hand grabbed her and she fought it like a madwoman, lashing out with a barely-controlled jet of flame that got her unceremoniously dropped into the weeds at the edge of the pond.

The two 'Cons disappeared over the ridge, Blitzwing accelerating even as he and the dangling Lugnut cleared the treetops by inches.

Diarwen sputtered and got her feet under her, knife in hand. But when she got the pond water out of her eyes she saw only Optimus, turning slowly to keep the retreating 'Cons in sight; his must have been the servo that fished her out of the pond. She located her sword and called it to her hand.

"I am sorry," she said, when he turned from his surveillance to her. "I did not realize that servo was yours! Did I burn you?"

"Not badly. I didn't intend to drop you."

"Most people do drop a hot potato-you were meant to!" Then she took note of the dent in Optimus' armor where Lugnut had punched him, and the energon splattered in large quantities on his chestplates. "Are you all right?"

"Yes—oh," said Optimus, following her gaze, "that's his. Yourself?"

An experienced warrior, she stopped to check herself before saying, "I actually think that I am. A few more bruises, and I swallowed half that pond—nothing that a good pint cannot fix! That is one extremely impressive dent."

With some satisfaction, Optimus replied, "I traded him a dagger for it."

She scanned the sky. "Do you expect them to come back?"

"I doubt it. Lugnut may want another try, but I don't think Blitzwing will have anything more to do with us. He'd have attacked instead of running if he did."

The seeker was a multiple personality. In his ice form, he was very intelligent. He also had a fire form ruled by rage. There was a third personality also, but had the rage-driven persona been in control, things could have gone very differently.

And with a sigh, Optimus stopped his instant replay of the skirmish to get Diarwen's things from his subspace, then transformed so that she could get into dry clothes out of sight of the highway.

As he had hoped, the worst of the dent popped out when he did so. Ratchet might have a few things to say about that old front-liner's trick, but at that moment, Optimus didn't really care. If the two 'Cons failed to realize exactly how much luck and Diarwen's timely distraction had to do with their defeat, they might decide to leave well enough alone. Probably only Lugnut had been loyal enough to Megatron to try to avenge him.

Once Diarwen was ready, they got back on the road. It was still another hour and a half to Marietta, and after the first ten minutes Optimus was seriously regretting having let Lugnut land that punch. He said nothing, because from her infrared image, Diarwen wasn't faring any better. If she had been human, he would have said she was lucky that she didn't have broken legs, at least, after falling from that height. The impact could not have helped those spectacular bruises to heal, either. He did not know whether she had been able to use her magic, unreliable as it was at present, to ease her impact with the unforgiving surface of that pond.

Optimus wished someone familiar with the medical care she needed could tend to Diarwen, but they were too far from Cincinnati to return to Michael and Moonsilver. Also, he was not certain he could make the farm without going into forced recharge somewhere along the side of the road. Right now, he hoped only to get them safely to Marietta before that happened.

And she, reading the gray tones of fatigue and the bright red rips of fresh injury in his aura, was no less concerned for him.

The road twisted and turned through forested hills. It was a little after eight in the evening, still light at this time of year, though the shadows had grown long and the fireflies were coming out under the trees. The many bends in the road cut visibility, and much local traffic consisted of drivers who seemed to think anyone who didn't know the roads as well as they did shouldn't be on them in the first place.

Then they got stuck behind a tractor hauling a wagon laden with hay bales, and they, with several other travelers, slowed to a crawl. Now and then some daredevil chanced the double yellow line to rocket around everyone else, though most only grumbled and used their common sense.

"How are you holding up?" Optimus asked Diarwen.

"Fairly well, I think, considering. What did they say back in Chicago when you reported that dust-up?"

"Ratchet wasn't happy."

"Tell me something that I do not know," she grinned.

He chuckled also. "Nothing turned up on radar, and no wonder. I doubt Blitzwing could have got a hundred meters off the ground carrying Lugnut."

She snickered. "I think if a dragon tried to mate with a troll, it would look rather like that."

Optimus laughed out loud. Then he observed, "It surprises me that dragons exist, since humans have never found a skeleton."

"Creatures strong in mana tend to return to Earth quickly after the spirit departs. If a human did find one, it was explained as some sort of dinosaur, no doubt," she said.

By the time the farmer and his hay turned off the highway, nearly an hour had passed, and they were only fifteen miles closer to their destination.

In the dark, it was harder to avoid the patches of rough road that were more frequent in this impoverished area of the state, and each jolt hurt both of them worse than the one before.

In their weariness, when Diarwen and Optimus crossed the Muskingum River at a small community called McConnellsville, all either wanted was to stop and rest for a few minutes. They still had another thirty-five miles of country road to travel before they reached Marietta.

And Diarwen was hungry—she pointed out a sign for a hamburger place that announced the drive-through stayed open late.

By the time Diarwen went inside, used the restroom, bought a sandwich, then crossed the entire parking lot to him in the poorly-lighted area where he parked, Optimus had slipped into recharge.

Diarwen didn't have the heart to wake him any sooner than necessary; she sat on the edge of a planter made of cross-ties to eat her burger and fries, and savor her chocolate malted. She blessed the memory of whatever genius had figured out that her two favorite flavors in the universe, milk and chocolate, went so well with malt.

The malted finished, along with the burger and fries, she simply sat for a few moments, enjoying a peaceful warm evening.

The trash can, of course, was located on the far corner of the lot. She got up and limped over to it through the warm night, with the twang of cheerful top-forty country music floating on the air from inside the restaurant—some singer's cheeky, politically incorrect reminiscence about the good ol' days on a dirt road.

Out here, except for the hum of a flickering fluorescent light and the occasional car on Route 60, it was quiet. Beyond the parking lot, fireflies danced over a small meadow. In her youth, Diarwen had often danced with them; it seemed that no time so carefree would come to her again.

With a tired sigh, she went back to Optimus. Careful about suddenly waking any warrior not four hours after a fight, she called his name in a low voice from several feet away until he answered her, then she climbed into his cab.

He apologized for falling asleep. Diarwen smiled and shook her head. "There is no reason for regret. This place is as safe as any other, and I was awake. I hope the rest helped."

"It did. We should reach Marietta within the hour."

"That sounds wonderful," the Sidhe replied.

State Route 60 went southeast, mostly following the winding Muskingum River. This highway was in no better condition than the road they had just left, but as the evening wore on, there were fewer cars on the road. Now that they were on the last leg of the day's journey, they were able to accept the rough patches as the toll to be paid to reach their rest for the night.

They crossed a bridge onto Route 7 and drove a short distance west, to a large fenced property with a sign that proclaimed Glengary Construction. They were both thinking at first that the company must belong to transplanted Scotsmen, but an African-American man opened the gate for them. His jacket had the name Gary embroidered over the left pocket. He introduced his identical twin brother, Glen, and their older sister Triona, who was the NEST agent's wife: the nurse.

They had cleared out the central bay of their large-equipment garage for him. Gary said, "My brother-in-law said y'all had some trouble on the way up here. I do all the mechanic work for our company. I'm not saying I know anything about taking care of your people, but if there's anything I can help with, you tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Optimus gave him a grateful nod. "Let me rest tonight and see what self-repairs. I may need to ask for your assistance tomorrow."

"I'll be here. Anything I can get you?"

Optimus shook his head tiredly and got an energon cube out of subspace. He had only one more, but after the fight he was starting to redline.

The brothers were used to hard physical labor from dawn to dusk. They might not know Cybertronians, but they knew dog-tired when they saw it. Glen said, "Get some rest. Gary and me, we'll take watches."

"My thanks."

They nodded in unison, that "twin" thing he was so used to seeing, and Gary turned off the lights as they left.

The family homestead, still the residence of their retired parents, was next door to the construction company. Triona and her mother showed Diarwen to the guest room, while Triona asked, "My husband said you're allergic to everything. Would it be OK to wash your clothes in Ivory detergent?"

"Yes, that's fine, but you need not-"

"It's no trouble at all," the matriarch said. "I'll throw a load in while Triona's taking care of you. What happened to you, anyhow?" she asked, as nosy as only an old lady can be.

Diarwen smiled at the unapologetic crone. "Old injuries from the past week's fighting, then today a few more scrapes and bruises. Most notably, I was grabbed around the shoulder by a claw, and then I fell quite some distance into a pond and almost got dragged under by my armor before Optimus bailed me out."

"How awful," Triona said, the professional nurse's calm reaction.

"They left with their tails between their legs. I'd not call that awful," Diarwen said, with a predatory grin that reminded both women of Triona's husband and his fellow soldiers.

"Let me see if you need stitches. Then we'll tape plastic over anything that needs to be kept dry, and get you into a hot shower. Mom, could you get the vodka, some saran wrap, and some tape?"

Her mother went back toward the kitchen.

"It will be safe to use vodka for disinfectant, won't it?"

"That works quite well," Diarwen replied, "and equally well for tranquilizing the patient!"

Triona grinned, and did not remind her that alcohol slows the healing process.

"Other than that, I've learned to compound my own simple medicines, and they take the place of anything available over the counter."

Triona nodded, and set to work.

Diarwen was thankful for the shower, as well as the soft clean cotton nightgown that was waiting once her injuries were treated. The nurse put some of Betony's herbed oil on the iron burn, and wrapped it loosely with plain gauze, while treating her other injuries.

Her mail shirt had spared her a wound that would need stitches, but Blitzwing's claw had imprinted the chain pattern on her shoulder and upper back in yet another large, spectacular bruise. Triona treated those with witch hazel and arnica cream.

There was a shot of vodka left in the bottle, a time-honored remedy in itself. Triona handed it to Diarwen, who drained its contents. "Thank you."

"Sleep well. If you need anything, we're right down the hall." Triona smiled, and closed the door behind her as she left.

And Diarwen lay down between cool crisp sheets to sleep like the dead for twelve hours straight.

End Part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Disclaimers in Part 1

When Diarwen woke, she found that someone who knew about the maintenance of metal had meticulously cared for her chain shirt, and the quilted padding she wore under it had been cleaned as well; yesterday's clothing had also been washed and dried. Diarwen smelled Ivory washing powder—the women had been true to their word, and used the only available soap unlikely to irritate her "allergies." She dressed quickly and packed her bag, then went out to check on Optimus.

She was relieved to see that his aura looked better; she hoped he felt as much improved as she did.

Gary had been talking to Optimus about the US 50 route to Washington DC. "It'll take you six or seven hours total—more if road work's got the traffic tied up. But you'll only have to cross an interstate twice more before you get to DC—after here in Marietta, that is."

Optimus asked, "How is US 50 across the mountains?"

"Not too bad. It's four-lane as far as Clarksburg. You might want to wait for your escort at Romney or Capon Bridge, because it's one interstate after another past that, if I remember right."

Optimus nodded. He was very familiar with the roads, as well as the sensor net, east of I-81.

Diarwen said, "I remember Romney. Once my band played a wedding reception in Springfield. I realized then that I had also visited there...some time previously." She swiftly edited herself rather than admitting that the "previously" was during the Civil War. "I think our campsite there might be a good place to meet whoever is going to be traveling into the city with us, if it has not greatly changed in three years."

Gary asked, "Have you figured out what to do about I-77? There's only one way east out of Marietta, if you want to stay completely off the Interstate, and that's old Route 7, at least till you cross the river at St. Mary's and head south to US 50."

Optimus said, "I have. I mean to use the Ohio River to cross under it. The water will prevent any sensors that might be on the bridge from detecting me. If you can give Diarwen a ride, we can meet somewhere east of the Interstate."

Gary said, "Not a problem, we've got a job site on the West Virginia side just east of Buckley Island where we're building a coal dock. From there you can take the back roads south to US 50."

Optimus could tell from Diarwen's body language that she had a question, but was hesitant to ask it. He cocked a brow at her, and she said, "I...am no engineer, but even I know that electricity and water do not mix. Can you go into the river, injured as you are?"

"Since I thought of this I've been prioritizing self-repair of my critical seals. If I can rest a while after leaving the river to get the water out, there ought not to be a serious problem. The risk is less than that of another run-in with Lugnut."

Diarwen nodded a bow, conceding the point. Everything was a calculated risk at this point.

Gary said, "The only problem I can see is, the Ohio is a working river. There's a lot of barge traffic. You'll need to stay in the eastbound channel. Don't stop in the channel, whatever you do. Takes a riverboat with a float of barges two miles to stop."

A quick Internet search confirmed that. Optimus also learned that, like freight trains, many of the barges carried hazardous materials which caused a major incident if they spilled into millions of people's drinking water.

He would not be doing anything foolish in the shipping channels. "That leaves only finding a good place to get into the river."

Glen said, "We have a fishing spot a few miles downstream. Got a boat ramp bulldozed out. There's a lot of trees, so I don't think anybody's likely to see anything from Route 7."

Gary opened the garage door. Route 7 was the two-lane highway in front of the construction company; their fishing camp was a few miles east of town. He climbed into the driver's seat of a white club-cab pickup with the Glengary logo on the side.

Glen, meanwhile, pulled the passenger seat forward to get in the back, leaving the shotgun seat for Diarwen. His mother, not bound by medical ethics as was Triona, had said rather inaccurately that their guest was "bruised from head to toe," and Glen would give pride of place to any warrior: which this silver-haired lady definitely was.

Optimus transformed to alt mode and followed the pickup to the twins' fishing spot. A dirt road led between two cornfields into a patch of water maples and sumac. The lot was large enough for a cabin, though they hadn't gotten around to building one yet, and high enough above the river that it would take quite a flood to get up here. The boat ramp had been roughly bulldozed to allow the launch of something no larger than a john boat.

Diarwen tossed a rock into the steel-blue water. "How deep is that?"

"Here, not very. Twenty to thirty feet. That's what the Ohio River dams are for, to keep the channels deep enough for navigation year-round," Gary told her.

Optimus waited until there were no boats in view before he went in the water. Despite the confident assurances he had made to Diarwen, there was no way to know if there were any dangerous breaks in his water seals until he actually tested them. He was ready to get out fast if there were any indications of water seeping into areas where it didn't belong: he waited for the sizzle and burning pain of a short. After a few moments he was certain that his seals were holding well enough to swim along the bottom to the eastbound channel.

Of course bots could not "swim" the same way that humans did. They transformed water jets which they had to run constantly to do anything except walk along the bottom, unless they had the instruction set to transform some sort of flotation system. Unlike Wheelie, who had to run his jets constantly to stay afloat at all, he had such a buoyancy system, and needed the water jets only to move.

But during his crossing, Optimus came across nothing larger than the occasional catfish. He had lights, but they were about as useful in the turbid water as high beams in the fog. He was glad he was going upstream, otherwise the cloud of silt that his jets created would have reduced the already-limited visibility to nothing at all.

Buckley Island split the river east of the confluence with the Muskingum. I-77 crossed the river there. He stayed as close to the bottom as he could until he was well past the island, keeping as much water between himself and the sensors as possible.

Once he was a safe distance from the bridge, Optimus sent up a small tethered remote to see where he was, and located the construction site. Glen and Gary's truck was already there; he spotted the twins sitting with Diarwen and a few construction workers on a half-built coal dock.

Diarwen spotted him first, and waved him around to the upstream side of the dock, where a boat ramp was already in place.

Optimus saw wide eyes and heard hushed conversation as he climbed out onto dry land. It wasn't every day that a giant robot came out of the Ohio River to visit their construction site, but the workers seemed more interested than awed or frightened.

As soon as he got out of the river, one of the workers parked a flatbed with a bulldozer on it to block the view of passers-by on the nearby road.

River traffic was less a concern, since they would see a boat coming in plenty of time for him to transform to his alt, or get out of sight in the surrounding trees.

Between the blazing June sun and letting his own systems run a little hot, Optimus swiftly dried himself. He told Glen and Gary, "Thank you for your help. It is one thing to open your home and business to strangers out of kindness and generosity, but quite another to do that knowing the sort of trouble we might bring with us."

Gary said firmly, "You fought beside our brother-in-law, so as far as we're concerned, you're family." His twin nodded.

The construction foreman said, "Besides, everybody 'round here knows, trouble's our middle name."

"Travis, I thought your middle name was Doofus," a stocky woman with a riot of red curls tied in a low, messy ponytail under her bright yellow hard hat replied.

Travis aimed a half-intentional swat at his grinning underling, which the younger worker easily ducked, but the exchange served its purpose by dispelling the serious atmosphere. Optimus could see immediately these folks were a lot like the NEST troops, or Sides and Sunstreaker for that matter—unless someone deliberately kept them serious, they would immediately turn anything into a joke and simply get the job done.

The redhead, Arlene, lived on the West Virginia side. "Now this is plain ol' blacktop country roads, but they'll get you there. Just watch yourself on the hills, we got some crazy drivers around here."

"I've never yet been anywhere on Earth, or anywhere else for that matter, that I haven't shared the roads with crazy drivers, but there are humans who seem to take pride in idiocy behind the wheel." (Ratchet had once said it had to be some sort of mating display—anyone who could survive that had to have good genes to pass along to their offspring.)

Arlene grinned. "Yep, we got us some good ol' boys just about everywhere. No matter what they'll try to tell you, it ain't only a country thang."

They bade farewell to their benefactors, thanking Glen and Gary yet again, and left. The swim had tired Optimus more than he expected, but surprisingly the slow drive zig-zagging along the river and then through quiet hill country seemed to restore his energy. He supposed he had healed to the point that moving around forwarded the self-repair process.

"Diarwen," he said a few miles out, "did you sleep well?"

"Like a rock. It was wonderful. Yourself?"

"Very well, thank you. This is a different landscape than that we've come through so far."

"This land is old—the Mother is strong here, for all the harm that has been done Her. I have loved these mountains since I first set foot here."

"You started to say something about this town, Romney?"

"Yes, when I said I'd been there before I meant during the American Civil War! That was four or five generations ago among humans, and no human Civil War Veteran is now living. You would not know it to look at it now, everything seems so peaceful, but once this was a border between warring nations. John Brown's raid on Harper's Ferry was not far east of Romney. The town itself changed hands more than fifty times during the course of the war. It was a hotbed of spies, and I was often one of them. It was so strange to come back there three years ago, and find people still bearing the surnames—aye, and the look—of those I knew in the war. Sentiments were so divided that, even though Romney fought for the North, as did the rest of West Virginia, there is a monument to the Confederate war dead in one of their cemeteries. You will understand better than any how such a thing divides families."

"Indeed."

"That was the first war I took part in which was not so much a contest between warriors as an effort to destroy the enemy's ability to make war. I learned then for the first time that the code by which I have lived my life has become but an inconvenience to many a commander."

"Not to me, nor to William Lennox."

"That I know well! But this General Morshower, him I do not know."

"I've found him to be an older version of Will Lennox," Optimus observed as he skirted an area of cracked pavement near a stream bank. It looked like the next good rain would wash half the road down, and he did not want to chance his weight bringing that about under his own wheels. "Is the poverty here a result of that war?"

Diarwen shook her head, looking at a collection of rusty house trailers around a battered shack with tar-paper walls. "That may be part of it, but much of the responsibility, or the blame if you will, is to be laid at the door of those who owned the mines in the days that followed. A certain amount of corruption became endemic even after they were gone. The Great Depression did its part as well, and never truly ended here. In the seventies, when the planet's industrial centers moved to other parts of the world, the area was dealt another hard blow. These people have suffered so much for so long, I do not see where they find the strength to get through this day—yet they do, and thrive despite the adversity that they face. I do not know what the solution might be."

Optimus rumbled agreement. "There can be no solution, until the people decide upon one of their own. We can't help them in that—all we can do is try to buy them the time to find it. No matter how young and violent a race these humans may be, we are not their parents, nor their guardians, nor even, really, their teachers."

Diarwen bowed her head in agreement.

After about half an hour, they reached the four-lane highway that was US 50, and turned due east. From there, it was an easy hour and a half run to Clarksburg, West Virginia, a community along the I-79 corridor between Morgantown and Charleston.

Along the way, they passed another fast food place, this one part of a national chain. Nearby, a farmer was selling fresh produce from the tailgate of his pickup truck to passers-by. Diarwen bought some chicken nuggets from the restaurant, but bypassed the sad-looking french fries in favor of a big vine-ripened tomato chosen from a bushel basket sitting on the tailgate of the truck.

They stopped in a small city park on a hilltop overlooking the Interstate, at the end of the parking lot farthest from a playground full of noisy children and their mothers, who sat around a picnic table visiting while their children let off steam.

Diarwen, sitting on Optimus' running board, munched chicken nuggets alternately with wedges of sun-warmed, juicy tomato.

"How far is it from Romney to your old campsite?" Optimus asked quietly, to avoid being overheard.

Diarwen considered, then answered with equal quietness, "Perhaps ten miles? I doubt it was more than that."

"Will you be able to find it again in the middle of the night?"

"If I cannot, I shall find another like it," she said confidently. "I know every hideout within twenty-five miles of there. I certainly used most of them to evade the Confederates."

He laughed, hearing a lot of stories behind that. "The humans change things quickly in a year, much less a century and a half."

"It had not changed so terribly much three years ago," she replied. "There are more people, but the places that I chose to hide were not where one would wish to build a house. Most were more my size than yours, but you still should have your choice of several."

"Let's find a good place to cross, and rest until dark," Optimus said. He was not going to be able to cross I-79 in daylight without also making an appearance on the local news, but at night he stood a good chance of doing so unseen. And after that hurdle was crossed, they had another three-hour trip to Romney.

In answer, she got up from his running board to throw her trash away, then climbed back into his driver's seat.

Optimus scouted several places on the outskirts of Clarksburg, and finally settled on a farmer's road that went nearly to the interstate on either side, while staying between two fields throughout that part of its length he could see. There was a fence, barely as high as his ankle, that he would have to remember to step over rather than on; but other than that, the way was clear. On the other side of the freeway was a deep ditch, and a short distance beyond that, the farmer's road continued. According to an internet map, it led to a series of country roads that, in fifteen miles, led back to US 50.

The remains of a barn sat back from the farmer's road. The roof had long ago caved in, and the ruins were covered with some sort of vine—Diarwen made no effort to determine whether it was Virginia creeper, or poison ivy. A few old beer cans were evidence that someone else had once passed time here, but from the leaves fallen on them and the weeds grown over them it had been a while ago.

Optimus was simply grateful for the opportunity to transform and rest.

Diarwen strolled in the direction of a nearby creek, but suddenly jumped back, sword in hand, and backed up slowly. When she heard Optimus' gun come out, she said, "Hold, 'tis nothing but a copperhead snake. I startled him and he returned the favor."

Optimus asked, powering down the weapon, "He didn't strike at you?"

"No, I'm fine and so is he," she assured him with a grin, sheathing her sword. "I've no love of snakes, but no great hatred either. He is welcome to his sunny rock."

Optimus laughed and put away the autocannon. In spite of everything, he realized, he had laughed more on this trip than in...he did not want to think how long.

Last fall's leaves crackled under her boots as Diarwen returned, if only because she made no effort to move soundlessly. The light breeze caught a few strands of pale hair that had escaped her braid; they shone like silver in the evening sun. She sat down beside him, took a deep breath and released it in a contented sigh.

He let some time pass, then identified a small niggle of disquieting thought. "Diarwen, what will you do when we're no longer needed in Chicago?"

"You have asked me to teach you. I will do that. Perhaps by then, I will know how much of my magic will return, and there will be the thing which haunts that rest stop in Indiana, and whatever else needs putting right after that. Goddess will send me where She has need of me."

"It takes a great deal of faith to live that way," Optimus observed.

"I had nothing to lose when I first made the decision to live so, my friend. I did not know then how much I stood to gain from it, but I have received far more than ever I have given."

He knew that for himself; a Prime gave his life over to a greater Being just as surely.

They watched afternoon fade peacefully into evening. Diarwen talked Optimus into recharging while he had the chance, to which he acquiesced, knowing such to be sensible. As it began to get dark, mosquitoes started coming up from the creek; Diarwen cast a charm to discourage them.

Fireflies came out around her, and stars above. She cast no charm against either, and danced a very few steps with the fireflies before the timer he had set woke Optimus at full dark.

Like all interstates, this one was busy twenty-four hours a day, but gaps between bursts of traffic might allow him to cross unobserved, if they were lucky.

"Diarwen, there is a ditch between the lanes, and an even deeper one on the other side of the highway. We will cross much more quickly if I carry you than if you have to get over them on foot."

"Aye," she said, and stepped up to his offered hand. "Your bad shoulder-"

"Your weight is no problem to lift, but I'd rather have you riding on the other if I should have trouble with it."

She bowed her head and stepped gracefully into his palm. He lifted her to his collar strut and she held tightly as he started walking.

He was on the shoulder on the far side of the highway when a car came around the curve, well over the speed limit, drifted out of its lane, and headed right for him. There was nothing for it but to jump the ditch to get out of its way.

At the same time, when he saw Optimus, the driver slammed on the brakes and skidded into the guardrail.

Diarwen yelled a furious string of insults in Sidhe, shaking her fist at the driver, not least because she had come close to falling.

"Are you all right?" Optimus asked her.

"Aye! Best let me see if that fool broke his neck!"

She ran, heart in her throat, to the door of the car; the vehicle was heavily damaged, and she saw the driver slumped over the wheel, the door unlocked.

The car smelled strongly of whiskey from a bottle which had spilled in the passenger seat. The driver proved to have passed out, and was restrained unharmed by his lap-and-shoulder belt. In a rage, Diarwen grabbed his keys and threw them as far as she could across the ditch. That would keep the fool here until the state patrol found him.

She ran back to Optimus. "He is fine, just drunk! We need to go before the law stops to see what is wrong with him, or he wakes up."

As soon as he found the farmers' road again, they were on their way. Optimus was not happy that he had nearly been hit by a drunk-not for his own sake, as he would not have been seriously harmed. But the driver almost certainly would have been, and that was not the worst that could have happened. "Had it been a human there instead of me, he could never have gotten out of the way. And you—you could have been killed if he hit me."

"No harm was done. And no one is likely to pay any attention to anything that a drunk has to say, even if he does remember seeing you."

"There is that, I suppose."

"What is wrong? You were not hit, were you?"

Optimus admitted reluctantly, "No, but jumping over that ditch..."

She winced in sympathy. She was amazed at how graceful Cybertronians could be for their size, but any time they jumped, several tons of metal had to land. After that hit Optimus had taken from Lugnut yesterday, she was sure the impact had not been pleasant.

Diarwen felt him smile, somehow. "As you said, no harm done. I just hope they get that idiot off the road before his irresponsibility kills someone."

She nodded agreement, but had nothing to add.

He scanned her carefully, and said, "Diarwen, it will be some time before we get to Romney. It might be a good idea if you slept."

"Are you sure you do not mind?"

"Of course not. I'd rather you were awake while we're trying to find your campground up a gravel road in the dark."

She laughed. "I will not get you lost in the middle of nowhere."

"No, you won't get me lost," he teased, "since I have very detailed maps of the area. If you knew the address I could go right to it."

"It is not my fault that I knew where things were before there were maps, or an Internet to get them from!" she said, mock-offended, and was rewarded by the low rumble of his laugh. "Listen to the land, then you will not need maps."

"Listen to the land?"

She rolled up her BDU shirt for a pillow and made herself comfortable. "Pay attention to the energy in the land beneath you as well as the auras of people around you. That will tell you as much as any map."

"I'll wager that it won't help you find a street address, though," he replied.

She laughed and conceded, "That it will not!"

"Then it seems we have to continue working together," he said, with patently false forbearance.

"It seems so," she agreed, with a dramatic sigh worthy of the Faires.

The banter settled down quickly when Diarwen stretched out, and realized how very tired she truly was. She wondered briefly if Optimus were as fatigued, but sleep took her before she could ask.

Most humans looked younger when they were sleeping and their cares forgotten. With Diarwen, Optimus found sleep different. Usually her appearance matched the cover identity that she used to go unnoticed among the humans, the mask of a young person, a young woman the same age as Betony, as Jordan, as Sam.

In her sleep, however, Diarwen's face did not age so much as forfeit the illusion of innocence.

Ageless she was, but there was no immaturity left in her. Her life had been hard and likely always would be painful, yet she avoided bitterness and resentment, places sorrow easily lead to when you had lost all of your people forever. That shattering grief behind her, she lived each day to the fullest, spending no time on regret.

She had kept her sense of humor, and even her compassion for those whose ancestors had cost her everything. Such forgiveness was hard fought for, rarely won by those of any age, any species.

That person who had fought so hard for her peace was still there. He hoped for Diarwen's sake she always would be. But now, asleep on his front seat, she was the weary warrior that Optimus had met two years ago: she who had given voice to her ancient sorrow, her half-millennium of loss, only in song; she who had survived the casual, brutal cruelty of a roadside IED short months before, and let the song bear that for her as well.

The Prime realized he had been making an amateurish mistake with the Sidhe, judging her by the appearance she chose to present to the world, and therefore lumping her in with the humans.

It was an error he would make no more.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The hills slowly changed to mountains as he continued eastward. He monitored everything from his own passive sensors to military frequencies and local 911 bands for any sign of Decepticons, but everything seemed quiet. If he had shaken them after chasing off Blitzwing and Lugnut, they might be safe now.

Trusting "might be" could get you offlined faster than anything else.

But, weary, wary, he noted still that this was a beautiful landscape. These were not the craggy barren western mountains; rather, old, weathered, heavily-forested peaks.

With his optics configured for low-light conditions, he could see quite clearly at night when, as now, the moon approached its first quarter: almost as well as in daylight. He wished he had the leisure to enjoy the scenery, but it was more urgent to monitor for possible trouble.

So far the most dangerous thing he had seen was a trio of overweight coal trucks breaking the speed limit. If they were going to flush the highway patrol out of hiding for him, he would take advantage of that to make up a little time, as he could do so without putting anyone at risk.

The highway went through several more small mountain towns. At this hour of the night, the only traffic was people passing through. Except for a few bars and convenience stores, the businesses were closed.

When they went through a town, he kept his windows darkened so that the lights did not wake Diarwen.

He woke her finally when they reached the Potomac just west of Romney. She looked around at the bridge they were crossing, and knew at once where they were. "Some company I am. I did not mean to sleep the whole way."

"It was no longer than you let me rest, Diarwen."

She nodded. "Very well. Right in the middle of town, turn left on High Street. If I recall correctly there is a coffee shop opposite the turn."

High Street soon left town and became a narrow blacktop road with a constant double yellow line. They passed a number of small farms along the Potomac, and when they came to a crowded campground, Diarwen said, "There's a switchback left turn just up here in front of a big farm."

Optimus found the turn exactly where she recalled it, a side road that turned back to parallel the highway as far as a sharp bend in the Potomac, then followed the river. A rambling two-story farmhouse was surrounded by barns, sheds, and a large silo.

He downloaded the public satellite images available on the Internet. "How much further?"

"Not much, but this road is awful," she warned.

He had to slow to a crawl to make the turn, and didn't bother trying to speed up again. The road was barely more than parallel dirt tracks with a little gravel scattered here and there, weeds between the tracks growing almost as high as those on either side. "Are you sure this isn't someone's driveway?"

"No, there are a number of houses up here, but they are mostly vacation homes. Past them, there are some cliffs on the right, and then another dirt road just past the cliffs that goes over a steep hill to the campsite."

They continued for at least a quarter mile past the last of the vacation homes, with the Potomac on one side and the cliffs on the other, before they came to the turnoff.

"Steep hill" was putting it nicely. The so-called road to the campsite was an overgrown dirt track with a gulley running down the center, which passed through a forest of oaks and beeches and buckeyes taller than he was. Like most wooded areas in the region which had been clear-cut at one time and then allowed to grow back wild, under the trees there were heavy thickets of weeds and briars, younger saplings, and screens of grape vines hanging down from the canopy. Deeper into the forest where less sunlight reached the ground, it was more open, but the edge of the forest screened everything from view.

Optimus stayed in alt form as far as he could, but near the top they found a large log across the road.

Diarwen jumped to the ground and took a look around. "I don't think anyone is nearby."

His scans confirmed that. On this high ground, his range extended easily to the first few vacation homes. Miraculously, all were empty; he was lucky they were not passing through here during the Fourth of July weekend, a few weeks hence.

He considered simply pushing the log aside, but if he tried that on this steep grade, he might further injure his shoulder and get himself marooned. That would be, at the least, a dangerous inconvenience. As quietly as possible, he transformed and stepped over the log.

The campsite was on the other side of the ridge they topped a few minutes later. It was overgrown with weeds, and didn't look as if it had been used recently, but someone had cut down the new growth of saplings the winter before. Optimus probably would have gone right by it without giving it a second look if not for Diarwen's cheery, "This is it!"

"What is the difference between this patch of weeds and any other?" he asked.

"This fine, outstanding patch of weeds is where we had our tent," she replied with a grin. "There is a fire ring, should someone want a camp fire. And that ditch is where Jordan sprained his ankle, causing us to make a trip into Romney to get his leg x-rayed."

"This is where the wedding was?"

"Yes. The bride and groom are SCA people—members of the Society for Creative Anachronism," she explained.

He did some Googling and goggled at the results, but said nothing. Humans were _very_ strange.

"The wedding party had their camp further up the valley. This land all belongs to the bride's family. At that time, of course, the weeds were trimmed, and all was music and dancing." She paused, and her expression grew serious. "When I was here before that, Romney was in Confederate hands. I was with a band of Union spies, reporting on troop movements, and trying to catch the Confederate spies. Those were indeed interesting times."

He sat down near the fire ring. "It's hard to imagine this was once a battlefield."

"To this day, it is possible to visit the Civil War trenches here. There are still some signs of the fighting, but it was long ago. The land has largely healed."

"Someday perhaps we will go back to Chicago and say that."

"Aye," she said with a sad smile. "Perhaps we will."

"Ariel would have been fascinated by the history of the place," he commented.

"She was your..." Girlfriend was not the right term. Diarwen found herself searching for an appropriate English term when the only language that they had in common was foreign to them both.

"We were still in our trial mating, a situation that I believe is similar to engagement. We met at the university where I worked. She was training to be a healer, and took history classes from my professor because she enjoyed them."

"What happened?"

"A campus protest went wrong, and turned violent. A protester was shot. Ariel was kneeling over him when she was also gunned down. I never found out who fired that shot. I hope that it was a stray, that none of the enforcers would have intentionally gunned down a uniformed student healer doing her duty. But there was no way to trace a laser beam back to the weapon that fired it."

"Optimus, I have no words to say how sorry I am. I—I know. My husband was killed in the same battle that stranded me here. It is left for us...to go on, and remember. They live in us. We must live for them."

He nodded. "Yes."

For a moment, they were silent, contemplating the difficulty, and the honor, of living for those who had gone on. That burden was lighter for having been shared.

Optimus excused himself after a moment. "I had better let the base know that we are here."

Diarwen nodded. "I am going to walk around a little while you do that. I will see what has changed in three years' time."

She didn't go far, but by the time Optimus radioed Lennox that they had arrived and made plans to meet Ratchet and his escort, she had explored the area around the camp, as well as the camp itself.

When she returned, he got her pack from his subspace, and she rolled out a ground sheet and her sleeping bag. "What is the plan?" she asked, again sitting beside him.

"In the morning, we're to travel north to the Greater Cumberland airport."

"Oh, I know where that is. It is but ten or fifteen miles along the same road that brought us from Romney. That is not a huge airport; will it be large enough?"

"They won't need the C-130s. Ratchet and most of the others can travel on cargo helicopters. Once on the road in a group, we will be able to use the Interstates for the run into DC."

"We will only be on our own for a few more hours, then. I believe that it is my watch. You had better rest—Ratchet will undoubtedly know if you have not."

"Right. I have enough explaining to do about that fight."

"I should like to have seen him avoid it!" she said, in some heat.

Optimus said, "It would probably be better not to point that out to him."

"Hmm," was her non-committal reply. "Rest well."

As Optimus' optics dimmed into recharge, the thought crossed his processor that she had made absolutely no promises about not provoking Ratchet.

She who made no promises about poking irascible medics walked the camp to stay awake. Where Optimus was recharging, Thomas Pelphrey and Isaac Compton had pitched their tent; hers had been to the left of an oak tree which had now grown huge.

Thanks to prejudices she would never truly understand, Tommy and Isaac had never been able to share a home and be the family that they were, but Confederate rifle balls had not discriminated between two men who loved each other and the lovers of women around them.

They had died for a freedom that they themselves had never known. Their shared grave was not five minutes' walk from here.

She had buried the Confederates an equal distance in the opposite direction; those graves she would not visit.

There were still Pelphreys in Kentucky and Comptons in Boston. She wondered if they knew of their bachelor uncles who had been dead for a hundred and fifty years, and if in this modern age, they would still share the hate that had forced Tommy and Isaac to live a lie throughout their short time together. Or would they finally have been accepted and loved for who they were, welcomed into each other's families?

Truly, it no longer mattered. Only she now remembered Tommy's laughter and Isaac's sweet tooth.

Only she now remembered Tommy's deadly accuracy with his long Sharps rifle.

Only she now remembered Isaac's gentle touch with the horses.

Only she now remembered.

Remembering, Diarwen once more stood night watch under the stars in this valley, listening to the rustle of leaves and the quiet sounds of an opossum looking for its dinner. Now she was lucky enough to wear comfortable BDUs instead of calico and homespun.

Optimus had set an alert to bring him out of recharge at dawn. He unshuttered his optics to see Diarwen standing guard, back to him, at the edge of camp. When she heard him moving, she turned to him with a smile and a warm, "Fair morning."

"And to you as well," he replied. "Did you have a quiet watch?"

"Nothing stirring save memories, and a stray 'possum. I've one more thing to do here, Optimus, but 'twill only be a moment." She glanced away from him, to a patch of blue wildflowers.

"Very well," he rumbled. "I'll keep watch."

She knelt now to pick a small bouquet of those blue flowers, something—different—about her energy field.

Optimus watched her climb to the top of the hill through knee-high morning fog, then stop briefly, and locate her landmarks. After, knowing where she was, she went to a large tree, and knelt under it to place the flowers beside a boulder, overgrown deeply with moss, and surrounded by maidenhair ferns.

He wondered if the moss had been so thick, the ferns so luxurious, when she was here last.

She stood straight, took a step back, and drew her sword, pulling the back of the blade to her forehead, then pointed it away from herself and swept it down and to the side in salute, the light fog swirling about the blade.

With the pale sun shining on her hair, morning mist around her knees, she was ageless and timeless: a warrior honoring fallen comrades, as every warrior must.

Then she sheathed her blade, and took two more steps back before she pivoted and returned to camp, her aura changing again as she neared him.

Without a word, she gathered her things, leaving nothing but footprints.

Optimus asked, after a while, "Do you have something for your breakfast?"

"It's waiting for me ahead, I hope!" Once again, her usual persona was in place, cheerful, not a care in the world.

They walked back the way they had come. Diarwen went into the trees where a fallen oak allowed sunlight to reach the forest floor, and a patch of blackberries had set up housekeeping. She had a couple handfuls straight from the vine, juicy and sweet and still wet with dew.

There was no one near, so Optimus stayed in root form to descend that treacherous road. Diarwen at his side licked blackberry juice from her fingers.

End Part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Disclaimers in Part 1

The Greater Cumberland Airport, just south of the Maryland state line, was a small facility which catered to the area's private pilots and local business aircraft. Now and then military planes landed here, but those did not attract the attention that a small fleet of NEST CH-53 helicopters did.

Unlike the Ospreys which had been downed in Chicago, these were heavy cargo lifters, each capable of carrying any of the bots except Optimus himself. Three of them had brought Ratchet, Sideswipe, and the Sisters. The medic and the femmes were passing the time with their pilots, while Sides, as could be expected, had gone to the perimeter to make friends with a small crowd of curious civilians.

The silver front-liner made his excuses when he saw his leader coming, and skated over to join the others.

Inside a hangar, Ratchet did a quick field exam to assess the damage from Optimus' run-in with Lugnut. Optimus, with Ratchet's permission, established a hardline connection between their wrist ports, and sent him a copy of his self-diagnostics immediately following the fight.

Ratchet's scans showed nothing unexpected, for which he and Optimus were both grateful. They prepared to leave.

One of the CH-53s returned to Chicago. The other two flew air cover for their convoy, and would transport the Sisters and Sideswipe back to the wounded Windy City as soon as the Prime and CMO were safely within the Washington base.

That large group traveling I-68 was an open challenge for the 'Cons to try something if they dared. Optimus approved of the plan Sideswipe had set up with the Maryland State Patrol: two patrol cars would follow them and block traffic, keeping civilians at a safe distance in case they were attacked. Too often the 'Cons had mounted a surprise attack, trapping innocents on the battleground.

Their preparations granted them an uneventful trip. They were inside the beltway and on the last leg of their journey when the radio was suddenly jammed with distress calls.

When Optimus sorted out the chaos, Barricade was attacking the base. He ordered the others, "Go ahead and secure the headquarters!"

Ratchet was the only one who objected. "It's probably a diversion to give Lugnut and Blitzwing a clear shot at you, Optimus."

"Then why wasn't Barricade with them in Ohio? Something else is going on here, Ratchet."

The real question was whether Ratchet trusted Optimus' instincts, and he did. He cursed and accelerated to flank Sideswipe. Optimus wasn't able to keep up in his current condition, but he increased his speed as much as possible.

Optimus had broadcast the conversation over his radio. Diarwen checked her weapons and asked, "What do you think he wants?"

"Something that we have stockpiled there. They need everything from energon cubes to medical supplies. He won't get a better chance to raid our stores. I hope that NEST will put the value of lives above those things. Nothing there is worth dying for."

"No, but pride and honor are. They have a quarrel of their own with the Decepticons now, completely apart from you and your people. If Barricade is wise, he will do what he came to do and get out quickly, or he will not be leaving at all."

As if to underscore her words, Optimus saw a squadron of fighters flying low over the Potomac. He recognized their markings; they were stationed at Andrews AFB just southeast of the Beltway in Maryland. They would have already overflown the NEST HQ once, and must be coming around for another pass. He switched to the Ops channel and ordered, "Sitrep!"

A female voice with a deep-South accent replied, "Sir! Barricade breached the perimeter fence and engaged our forces in the west lot. When he took out the blast door, they fell back to the next defensive line and broke out the LAWs. He took something from medbay and bugged out, sir!"

Optimus knew immediately from the excitement rather than fear in the radio operator's voice that the bunker itself was no longer under attack. "Is he still on base?"

"I have no direct knowledge, sir, but they chased him outta the bunker. I do not hear firin', sir, just a whole lotta yellin'. We are expectin' air support presently."

"They are en route."

"Sir."

"Out." Prime switched frequencies and relayed that information to Sideswipe.

Sideswipe laughed, "Stole something from medbay and hauled aft, huh? Sounds like Barricade, all right."

Ratchet cursed, "Fraggin' glitch got in there and trashed my medbay, just you wait."

By the time Optimus arrived, a hole in the fence was the visible evidence of Barricade's entry and exit. NEST troops with rifles and shoulder-fired rockets lined the riverbank. The river was being searched by fighter jets, boats and helicopters.

Inside the breached fence, a strong smell of cordite hung above discarded rifle shells lying in their hundreds on cracked asphalt.

There were also three wounded, but all of them were conscious, and one still had his rifle ready.

All the bots except Ratchet were on the riverbank with the soldiers. Optimus could hear his CMO without difficulty from where he was, at the far side of the parking lot near the river fence: "Fraggit! Why, oh why, does anyone who comes in here to raid think that leaving glass broken everywhere and contaminating chemicals I need by scattering them around the floor is the thing to do? I get that 'Con in here for any reason whatsoever and I swear by Primus I will sweep that stuff he's wasted into a pile and use it all on him! Slagger!"

Of course, as Ratchet was at that moment tending to the worst of the human wounded, Optimus had to turn his gain up a bit to hear. But that was Ratchet: promises of destruction out of his mouth while only healing and gentleness flowed through his fingertips.

On the other hand, if Barricade presented himself to medbay within the next, say, two hours, Optimus would not guarantee his safety.

He transformed and went inside, nodding to Ops personnel. A few of them hastily holstered their sidearms, as they had all remained on duty monitoring comms and other information throughout the raid, as well as trying to stay aware of the conditions outside; noises of battle would of course have reached them.

"Return to standard procedure," he said. "'Con is no longer on the base, and we are secure."

"Sir," said a very young soldier. "Thank you, sir. Welcome back."

Optimus nodded, wondering if any of these human children had achieved a full quarter-vorn of age yet, and continued on his way.

The officer in command in Lennox' and Graham's absence, and that of several other officers senior to her, was Captain Sheila Haskell, the quartermaster's assistant. She came up to report, "No serious casualties, and the only real damage was to the fence and the door, sir!"

"What happened, exactly, Captain?"

"Barricade came up the riverbank, and the sentries started firing as soon as they saw him, sir. They fell back inside and shut the door partway, left it up about three feet so they could fire underneath it. Barricade blasted it, the boys who were nearest took some shrapnel but nothing serious, thank God. I ordered them to fall back here and me and some of the troops broke out the sabot rounds. He took a few good hits, but then he ducked into medbay. I thought he was taking cover in there, sir, he was taking some pretty heavy fire. But then he busted out and made a run for it, straight for the river." She was as professional as could be—except for the sparkle in her eyes. Quartermaster's assistants rarely defended against invasions.

"Good work, Captain."

"Thank you, sir."

Ratchet came out of medbay, looking thoughtful.

"What was he after?" Optimus asked.

"He made a Pit-be-damned mess in there so I can't be absolutely sure-but it looks like several cubes containing medical-grade energon, and several boxes of nutritional additives."

"Of all things-"

"Doesn't make sense to me either. If it was just an energon raid, there are several large cubes of standard-grade in plain sight that he didn't touch. Instead he went for the additives."

"What are those used for?" Optimus asked.

"Starvation cases or serious frame damage; they prevent self-repair systems from hogging critical resources, chemicals used to regulate the fuel pump, things like that. I haven't had much need for them since Bumblebee had his final growth spurt."

The Prime gave a thoughtful rumble.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

A few hours passed while the base was put to rights after Barricade's invasion. Ratchet was furious that he had to clean up his medbay before he could get to work. But the work went more quickly because Arcee and Flareup helped, while Chromia switched to her jet ski secondary alt and went out on the river to see for herself that Barricade really was gone.

Sideswipe stayed as long as he could, but he was needed back in Chicago; the Sisters were there to take care of security.

Diarwen headed off a Ratchet rant by taking a nap, and afterward treated herself to a long hot shower and a decent hair-washing. By then it was late afternoon.

Ratchet came out of medbay, helped himself to some energon, and took it across the commons to join Optimus, Diarwen and the Sisters. Chromia was saying, "He's gone. I searched the river. And with the sonar net they've put up, he isn't coming back that way. My guess is, he's out to sea by now."

There was a moment of silent contemplation. Barricade was not known for acting impulsively. He would not have taken the risk of a single-handed raid without a good reason, but he had not left any clues to it.

Flareup glanced over at the young humans who were still occupied with fixing the door, and started giggling. "Cade had no idea what a scraplet's nest he was kicking over! I wish I'd seen the look on his faceplates when they brought out those rocket launchers!"

Ratchet said, "Don't encourage them. They could have been killed for some Pit-be-damned energon supplements."

Diarwen once again found herself explaining humans to Cybertronians. "They did not resist him for the things he stole, Ratchet. Rather, it was that he dared come here to steal it-as though they were not true warriors, only children he could count on stand aside and let him do as he pleased. No one would suffer such an insult to stand unchallenged."

Optimus pointed out, "No one died today, that's the most important thing."

"Aye," Diarwen agreed. But after a moment she said, "It still would have been worth seeing!"

Everyone laughed—even, in spite of himself, Ratchet.

The healer said to his patient, "It's late. Might as well wait till tomorrow to get started on your arm."

Most of the work would have to be done while Optimus was in stasis lock. However, he would need to be conscious again in order to be sure that data was properly crossing repaired links from the many sensors in his servo. That would be quite painful until the sensors were calibrated properly after such an extensive rebuild, something best delayed until they were both rested.

Optimus agreed, "We might as well."

After all these vorns, they knew each other very well.

For instance, they both had a temper. Optimus was much better than Ratchet at controlling his until he could find an outlet for it that did not lead to arguments and hurt feelings. When hurt, tired, or as now both, he was occasionally very tactless, but Ratchet knew better than to take seriously anything a patient said at a time like that.

The healer, though, was mortal, and his berthside manner was even worse than usual when he was overdue for a good recharge. After finishing his energon, he went back to his lair to set everything up.

The Sisters left to patrol the streets around HQ.

Optimus walked over to the temporarily-repaired door, where NEST troops had put up large plastic sheets to help keep out the Potomac's notorious mosquito squadrons. A soldier slapped one anyway, which revealed that it had been large enough to leave a visible spot of blood on his neck.

It was only Diarwen who wasn't slapping at them or scratching, her personal shield impenetrable. She joined him. "Penny for your thoughts."

"This place is not defensible against mosquitoes, much less any other enemy."

"It does not seem really suitable for your people long-term. It makes a target of the neighbors, for one thing."

He rumbled agreement. "It is too small to be comfortable for us, and there is nowhere to go outside the base itself except the streets and highways. Our human allies who want their families nearby must take whatever civilian housing they can find, and that creates a security problem. Ratchet complains constantly about the maintenance issues caused by the humidity, and about the problems that result from energon based on ethanol."

"Ethanol?" said Diarwen. She knew Cybertronians liked a drink for its effects as much as humans or Sidhe liked alcohol, but she knew the two species could not share the same intoxicant.

He smiled down at her puzzlement. "There is insufficient sunlight in the winter months to produce enough energon unless we begin with a fuel base."

"Ah. Have you alternatives?"

"Yes, we have previously used a facility between Tranquility and Mission City, and another on the island of Diego Garcia. Both were superior to this. Perhaps Director Mearing will have other ideas."

She nodded. "How are you doing? You yourself, I mean?"

"Well enough. Better, for the chance to recharge on my own berth tonight. And you?"

She returned his smile, and nodded, fields shifting, which he realized suddenly was as if she were speaking a foreign language. He knew she was communicating, but he didn't understand, and couldn't translate, this non-verbal part. The realization activated, for the first time in vorns, routines associated with his original function, clerk for a senior archeology instructor at the University of Iacon.

Perhaps there might be time for such studies now. Their war wasn't over, not so long as they had to fight off raids like today's. But he could afford to hope that the remaining Decepticons did not have, and could not create, the leadership or resources needed to cause another Chicago.

Yes, perhaps there might be time for such studies now.

Even though the base was prepared for another raid—and Optimus had the strong suspicion that more than one of those young warriors hoped one would be mounted—they eventually settled down to a quiet evening and a peaceful night's rest.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Diarwen found herself with nothing to do the next morning while Ratchet had Optimus in medbay.

She wandered, a frown on her face, until Chromia took pity on her and told her, "This really isn't that serious a procedure, Diarwen. It isn't enjoyable—at all—but it isn't dangerous either."

The Sidhe felt her shoulders come down. "Thank you for telling me that."

"You're welcome."

Diarwen realized that Chromia was preoccupied as well. "Is something else wrong? Is Ironhide all right?"

Chromia nodded, and they moved off together, walking the base waterfront, the Cybertronian slowing to the Sidhe's pace. "He's still recharging, but he's fine. If Ratchet were there, he would have talked his way out of medbay yesterday, but Jolt is doing everything by the book. It's just that I know how much discomfort Optimus is in right now, because I've had to have it done myself. I'm his foster-mother, you see, and it's never easy to have your sparkling in medbay no matter how old they are."

Diarwen looked up, eyes wide. "You are his _what—_excuse me, I did not mean that as it sounded, but I had no idea."

"I guess we haven't made a point of it, but it isn't classified or anything. It's just...complicated. He is my son, in all ways that matter, but he also is my Prime."

"I have lived at court far longer than anywhere else. I understand how such things are complicated."

"Do you have young ones?"

Diarwen shook her head. "My husband and I were knights of the Queen's Own Guard. It was not a settled life, nor one suited to raising children. We thought we had plenty of time, foolish as that sounds," she said. "But he fell delaying the church knights so that our people could get through the portal."

Chromia stopped dead, and gazed down at her friend, sorrow in every line of her faceplates. "Diarwen, I am so sorry."

The Sidhe drew a very long breath, and perhaps the following exhalation was not totally steady. "It was long ago. I have avenged and mourned him, Chromia, and moved on as he would have wanted. That does not mean I do not miss him; I do, every day."

"That's good. That you've moved forward, I mean. I can't imagine...sparkmates never outlive each other by much, you see, so a long widowhood isn't something I will have to endure. It sounds...awful. I don't mean—it's just that organics must be very strong people, to endure everything you have to."

"It is awful. Loss always is, in a matter of degrees, whether it is an acquaintance or a friend, or a loved one—even a pet. Love is the same, and loss is its price. Sometimes that price is too high. Among my people, what we call 'soulmates' are probably what you refer to as 'sparkmates.' Sometimes a married couple, sometimes siblings, sometimes friends, but always one soon follows the other. My husband and I were close, and we loved each other very much, but we weren't soulmates. Do not mistake me, his loss grieved me and always will, but he was not 'that one' for me, as Ironhide is for you."

"Oh. I understand now. Not all our mated pairs are sparkmates. Some couples are together for vorns before a bond forms, and for some it never does. Before the war such bonds were quite rare. I suppose war...clarifies things."

Diarwen nodded. "Thinking of the future in a time of peace is only prudent, but in wartime, waiting for a tomorrow that may never come is often the height of foolishness."

"Yes."

"I wonder why Optimus never told me that you are his foster-mother."

"Officially, the relationship ended when he grew into his youngling frame and Sentinel claimed him as a potential Prime. But once you take a little one into your spark, he's there from then on, no matter what someone puts on a data pad. We bowed and smiled and acted proud, then Ironhide twisted some arms and got himself assigned as Optimus' weapons instructor. I don't think the tower mechs like Sentinel and the rest of the Council knew we existed, but Optimus was at our place after that almost as much as when he lived with us."

"How did he become your fosterling in the first place?"

"Ironhide was walking me home after my shift when we found Optimus in an alley. His parents were lying dead beside him, shot at close range."

"Oh, Gods!"

"Ironhide and I were of the laborer's caste, very lowborn. We worked extremely long hours for short rations in those days. There was nothing fair about that system. A lot of bad things were done in the name of tradition. Among those inequities was that no one could be adopted by parents of a lower caste. But the high-caste bots were perfectly happy to allow low-caste couples to foster orphans.

"The law thought it was a robbery gone wrong, but no one ever knew for sure what happened. Healers were never able to recover Optimus' memory of the killings, and no other witnesses came forward."

Hearing about a double murder in a dark alley while walking on a peaceful riverbank on a lovely summer morning struck a dissonant chord, and Diarwen shook her head. This was something that could have happened in any city, in any time that she had ever known. A senseless murder, leaving an orphaned son. "I suppose that Optimus was too young then to be of any help."

"Well, yes and no, sparklings _can_ make the best witnesses, if they remember, because they record exactly what happened without clouding the memory with their own expectations. But very young sparklings often delete memories of traumatic events; it's a survival response to something that they can't deal with, and that's what Optimus had done. We never found out what his parents were doing in a dark alley in the bad part of town, or why they had Optimus with them in a place like that. He had no other family, and no one of his caste wanted to be bothered with an orphan."

"How heartless! Among my people, no child would have been allowed to remain so. But then...the humans are no better, I suppose, with their orphanages and foster care."

"It was a caste thing."

"I do not understand," Diarwen said. They had reached the fence, and turned back rather than go through a gate leading to an office complex. Ordinarily that would have been a pleasant walk, but neither of them wanted to wander far.

"You see, Optimus was sparked into the scribe caste, which was only one step below the priests—very high nobility. In those castes, matings were usually arranged for political or financial reasons, and they had sparkling frames built when they desired an heir. That heir's mating would be arranged before his frame was ever designed, as an alliance between cohorts or clans. No one wanted to complicate things by taking in a sparkling who didn't fit into their long-range plans. Orphans were fostered out to low-caste couples, who raised them until they were younglings, when they were sent to the youth sectors and trained for the lowest level positions in their own caste. Even as a potential Prime, Optimus became a scholar's clerk. Had things been...other than they were...I think he would have been happy at the university for the rest of his life. But, obviously, Primus had other plans for him.

"Ironhide and I—we probably never would have been able to afford a sparkling until my factory needed more workers and put up a bonus for those willing to raise one. Ironhide went into the defense force, but the rank and file didn't make enough then to have a sparkling frame built. It took a whole cohort from our caste to put that much credit together, but we were both on the outs with our families. When we found Optimus, we applied to foster him, and since nobot objected there we were. Then when he needed his youngling upgrades, they found the Prime sigil, and Sentinel claimed him."

"I thought that Megatron was Optimus' brother."

"That doesn't always mean the same to us as it does to organics. My sisters and I had the same parents, but it can also be a bond that forms later in childhood between close friends. That's what happened with the two of them. Megatron was being groomed as the next Lord High Protector when they met as new younglings. Megatron was a good kid, then. I don't know how many times I've tried to figure out what went wrong for him, if there was something somebody could've done."

Diarwen patted her servo. "Influences within the palace, at least that would be my first thought," she said. "Had you and Ironhide had the raising of him as well...but what can we know? Sometimes there is no reason that we can see why someone chooses a dark path. And no one can make another's choices."

Chromia smiled, and turned her servo to give Diarwen's much smaller hand a very gentle squeeze. "Optimus doesn't make close friends easily, but I can see why he let you in so quickly. You have the same philosophy about a lot of things."

Diarwen was not sure what to say. For no good reason that she could name, her cheeks warmed, and she looked down. "I treasure that."

The bot's mouthplates curved into a warm smile. "As _you_ are treasured here. Never forget that."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

If there was one thing Optimus hated, it was coming out of stasis lock. Awareness returned well before his boot-up sequence was completed; the result was a disorienting cacophony of warnings and alerts, data streams from thousands of sensors, and error messages from systems that had yet to on-line. None of this was in any sort of context because memory had not yet activated—he was still running on spark-level programming. Because panic was a natural reaction to finding oneself in such a situation, movement was the last function to be regained.

His first awareness outside himself was of a familiar presence. _Ratchet, _the cohort bond connecting them identified.

He onlined his optics as memory flooded back.

And with that, he concentrated on the data from his shoulder and arm. Nearly all sensors were off-line, but he got confirmation by way of energon pressure indicators that his arm was still there, anyway.

The rest of it was going to be a long, miserable day's work.

Instinctively he checked the time, and then the comms for any critical alerts. Everything was proceeding as expected—though he knew Sides and Chromia would be intercepting anything short of seeing the base burst into flame.

Ratchet asked, "Are you back with me?"

"Yes, I believe so. How did it go?"

"So far so good."

"Give me a moment to let Chromia know I'm all right, then we can get started."

"She and your charge are right outside."

"My charge?"

"Diarwen."

"She is not my charge. You know I cannot allow guardian protocols to activate, because I can't favor one organic over another."

"Of course not," Ratchet said, optics narrowed.

"It is called _friendship, _Ratchet," the Prime replied. He was unsure what Ratchet was getting at, and he didn't think he wanted to know—not while the medic had him at such a disadvantage, in any case.

The irascible old bot busied himself with his instruments while Optimus turned to his cohort bonds. ::Chromia.::

She replied with a burst of warmth and happiness.

::Everything is going fine so far. Ratchet seems to think that I have made Diarwen my charge. What gave him that idea?::

Chromia's laughter filled the bond and bled over to both Ratchet and Ironhide. ::I have _no _idea. Tell him to buzz off!::

::While he's up to his elbows in my sensor net? I don't think you raised that great a fool, Chromia,:: he replied, with equal humor.

Under her laughter was the same cold razor-sharp edge of _hurt-my-kid-and-I'll-find-out-where-you-recharge _that had made him feel perfectly safe as a sparkling growing up in one of the roughest neighborhoods in Iacon City—and later, why her little sisters had also been able to play on those streets without fear. _Her _guardian protocols were working perfectly well.

He smiled, despite himself, and bade both her and Ironhide farewell through the bond.

Ratchet asked, "Are you ready?"

"As I ever will be."

"Whenever you need a break, tell me."

Optimus nodded.

Each node controlled several sensors; the first one in each group was the worst, after it was properly calibrated, the others only needed to be fine-tuned. Optimus trusted Ratchet with the job—he trusted _Ratchet—_but the medic was an expert at this particular procedure. He had dealt with multiple amputations over the vorns thanks to Wheeljack, who had lost his servo so many times to lab explosions that the healer no longer bothered keeping count. Ratchet had the calibration process down to a science.

Of all the array of sensors controlled by each node, pressure sensors were the least painful when they were out of adjustment, so Ratchet always started with those rather than, say, their associated temperature sensors. The sensation of a sharp jab was infinitely preferable to that of burning or freezing.

Optimus wasn't sure what strange tangent the healer had taken, but he was glad the precise work stopped Ratchet from asking about Diarwen.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

A full joor later, Ratchet finally said, "That's it. It's about as done as I can get it."

Optimus, moving the arm experimentally, said, "Ouch. A bit sore."

He would have prodded at the raw weld marking the attachment had not Ratchet taken his servo away, saying, "That will go away in an orn or so. Micro-connections that I don't have the equipment to make will have to self-repair, but that's just a matter of patience."

"I think I can manage that," Optimus replied. "Thank you, Ratchet."

"Just don't fraggin' do it again."

"I wasn't planning on it the first time," Optimus replied. "And once was enough." He summoned his sword from his subspace, testing his control over the weapon. "Something still feels off."

Ratchet gave him a critical look. "Light it up," he said.

The hilt became part of Optimus' servo; energon lines joined with the blade and his lifeblood flowed down its length. With a thought, the blade ignited, casting an orange glow over the medbay as it diffused the fierce heat from the invisible plasma flame at its edge.

"How does it feel now?"

"Normal." The Prime extinguished the sword and gave it few moments to cool before he returned the weapon to subspace.

Ratchet said, "I suspect it's the sensors that had to be replaced. I preserved as many of the existing nodes as I could, but I had to replace some that shorted out, and they're never quite the same. Give it a few joors and if you haven't adjusted, we can recalibrate the ones that are giving you trouble."

Optimus nodded, though he suspected Ratchet could guess his opinion of that idea.

"Go on, get out of here so I can straighten this place up."

He didn't have to be told twice. Chromia and her sisters were right outside, quick to enfold him in the meshed fields of clan and home.

End Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Disclaimers in Part 1

Near the door, Diarwen smiled, but did not interrupt. That little gathering had "family" written all over it, and she was definitely an outsider. Instead, she walked the length of the mostly-empty commons. Except for the few on duty in ops, most of the NEST personnel were outside the building, repairing the fence.

She stopped short of ops, having no reason to be there, and wandered into the ops crew's small break room. This human-sized area kept their coffee maker and junk food stash out of Ratchet's reach. NEST legend had it that the medic had once sent in a remote to remove the biohazards, but Lennox had put the area off-limits to Ratchet after a nose-to-nose (with height allowance) shouting match...which the medic had lost.

She helped herself to a cup of coffee, half milk and liberally sweetened.

The door opened and closed. She looked up, smiled, and nodded a bow to Mearing, who filled her own coffee mug with black coffee and sipped the hot bitter brew.

"Good afternoon, Lady Diarwen. I see that Prime has been released from medbay."

"Yes, and all seems well. What news from Chicago?"

"They're still finding survivors. Most of them are badly dehydrated, unless they were trapped somewhere that had a source of water. You'd be surprised, though, how many people had sense enough to run to a basement and fill up a sink or something when the shooting started."

"We have had enough hard lessons in the past few years," Diarwen replied, as she looked over a selection of donuts.

"How are you doing?"

"Well, thank you for asking. Perhaps a little too much sitting around, I think."

"It didn't sound to me like you had the most peaceful drive over here," Mearing commented over the rim of her mug.

Diarwen laughed. "Except for that bit of excitement with Lugnut and Blitzwing, it was very peaceful...more or less."

"I have something for you in my office, by the way."

"Ah! Lead on, then, Director, by all means."

They passed through an outer office, the domain of Mearing's secretary Miss Li, and then went by a lighted case full of those mementos of her thirty-year career that she could display publicly. There were medals and small souvenirs from all over the world. Diarwen saw the beginnings of a song there, and turned loose her particular Muse, to store what memories she could, and write it all out later.

Mearing's office was dark except for the reading light on the desk. She put her purse and laptop in the desk drawers as she waved Diarwen to a comfortable chair. Then she took a large manila envelope from the safe. "You were out of communication when I filled this out, so I took the liberty of asking Col. Lennox your full name."

Diarwen opened the envelope and a plastic card the size of a driver's license fell out. There was her picture, and next to it a name she hadn't heard in full for centuries—Diarwen ni Gilthanel. "Yes—that is as it would be written in modern Gaelic." They had her month and day of birth correct, July 17th, but they had made her 22 years old, born in 1989. "Thank you."

"You've a social security card and valid Irish credentials in there too; I called in a favor from Dublin. We've arranged a bank account for you. Presently you are a low-level civilian employee of NEST. You have no official security clearance, other than permission to be on NEST property. If you decide to stay with us after the current crisis, we'll see what we need to work out later."

"I understand," Diarwen said, clipping the ID badge to her BDU jacket. "Thank you for this."

"We're the ones who should be thanking you," Mearing replied, eyes intense over the rim of her cup. "You didn't have a dog in this fight, and under the circumstances no one could have blamed you if you'd decided not to get involved. That didn't stop you from saving hundreds of American lives. The least that we can do is to keep you from having to deal with INS issues."

"I am glad that I was able to help," Diarwen said. "It is good...not to be a stranger here any longer."

Mearing's intercom beeped. "Excuse me. Yes, Miss Li?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Director, but Optimus Prime has asked you to join him in ops at your earliest convenience."

"Thank you, I'll be right there."

The two women left the office. Diarwen was curious what was going on, but she decided against going into ops without an invitation. Instead, she joined Arcee in the commons.

"What is happening?"

"I don't know, we were talking to Prime when one of the soldiers came and got him," the bot replied. "I was hoping you'd know."

"No, all I know is that he asked Director Mearing to join him."

Arcee shrugged. It was a mystery, and would remain so for a while. She took in Diarwen's badge, and said, "My, don't you look official."

Diarwen laughed and replied. "You are looking at a genuine, green-card-carrying permanent resident of the United States."

"Oh! We got those too," she said, projecting a hologram of hers. Instead of one photo, it had two—her root and alt modes.

Diarwen spent a moment wondering what place of birth was registered for the Cybertronians.

Whatever was going on, Optimus and Mearing were busy with something for quite a while. Diarwen could see from the changing auras that it was something serious, generating suspicion and anger, and—hope?

A little while later, Diarwen and the Sisters watched Ratchet leave the medbay and go down to ops. A brief conversation among the medic, the Prime, and the Director left Ratchet ablaze with fury. Fuming, he joined Diarwen and Arcee. Arcee's sisters came over too.

Optimus and Mearing had a short conversation, followed by a long silence, then mutual nods. Then Optimus came over to where Diarwen and the rest of the bots were standing. "That," he announced, "was Barricade. He wants to surrender."

"What do you know, a 'Con with brains!" Flareup said sarcastically.

"What are we going to do with him?" Ratchet asked.

"Take him into custody. General Morshower has left it up to me to decide whether to offline him or be responsible for him. There is no brig here that can hold him."

Ratchet asked, "You really mean to let him live, Prime?"

"That's up to him, Ratchet. He wasn't high enough in their ranks to be considered guilty of war crimes. None of the survivors are. I won't kill him out of hand unless he gives me no other choice."

"We're supposed to recharge with him running loose in here, not a full planetary rotation after he shot up the place?" Flareup objected.

Optimus replied, "I didn't say that. He's going to have to be somewhere we can control him. Ratchet, once we get our servos on him, I'll be open to suggestions to some humane way to protect ourselves from him."

Ratchet muttered something about reformatting him into a toaster. Chromia snorted, and Optimus cocked a browplate at the unrepentant medic. "Oh, I'll think of something," the medic assured him, while simultaneously not backing down an inch from the toaster idea, which made Diarwen both grin, and swiftly hide the expression.

"Chromia, you and your sisters stay here in case this is a diversion to draw us away from Headquarters. Ratchet, Diarwen, let's go get him."

The two mechs transformed to their alts, and Optimus held open his door for Diarwen. A few moments later, they were on their way.

Ratchet asked, "Where did he say he was?"

Once again, Optimus included Diarwen in the conversation by repeating Ratchet's transmission over his radio. The Prime replied, "He says he's on the Norfolk, Virginia docks."

"I am surprised that there are not energon detectors on the docks. Such a busy place..." Diarwen said, scowling thoughtfully.

"Precisely. Their high levels of traffic are why no one thought of the Decepticons using a dockyard to get in and out of the water. There are far too many deserted stretches of beach available," Optimus said, slowing for a stretch of road construction.

Diarwen said, "There is more going on here than we know. If he just wanted to surrender, why did he not do that instead of raiding the medbay?"

Optimus warned, "I wouldn't put it past Barricade for this to be a trap."

She nodded, then, unsure if he could see her or not, said, "Yes. But if it is not, it gets a threat off the streets...and perhaps it does that even if he means it to be a trap."

It was a four-hour run from DC down to Norfolk. They made no attempt to avoid the sensors, because in this area, if the 'Cons tried to make use of the information they would set plenty of them off themselves.

The Norfolk, Virginia docks were built along miles of the Chesapeake Bay's convoluted shoreline, and included everything from drydocks to piers for cruise ships to the largest Navy docks on the East Coast. The coordinates that Barricade had given him turned out to be a breaker's yard where several rusty old hulks were tied up awaiting the scrapper's torch.

Most Cybertronians found such places creepy at the least, and had to remind themselves that these wrecks were not and never had been alive in any way. But Ratchet was too long a doctor, and Optimus too long a warrior, to be affected by the sight.

By the time they arrived, it was nine o'clock at night, and the surrounding neighborhood was quiet, although the evening shift was still working in the breaker's yard. On shore, a crane was loading cut-up pieces of steel onto a flatbed truck while the driver stood out of the way smoking a cigarette. Out on the water, the rusty remains of a cargo ship occasionally flickered with light from cutting torches as a crew of rough-looking men dismantled it. Beyond that hulk, several more decrepit old ships were tied up waiting their turn.

There was no sign of a black and white police car.

Ratchet did a scan. "He's out there on the hulk farthest from the dock, but there's something strange. I'm picking up some other energy fields, too, but they aren't strong enough to be Decepticons. I don't know if they're symbionts, or mini-bots, maybe?"

Diarwen followed his gaze, and picked out the auras. "Yes, that has to be Barricade. But the others—Lord and Lady! I think they're children!"

"He's got hostages out there?" Ratchet demanded angrily.

Optimus scanned for himself. Barricade was closely surrounded by three small energy fields. "Those are not children, precisely: they are sparklings."

Ratchet looked dangerously near glitching. "They've got to be _hatchlings_. They've got to be a bunch of pit-be-damned seeker hatchlings!"

Diarwen struggled to find a neutral tone. "Ratchet, please explain to me why you are using a curse like that in reference to little ones of any race."

"The first seekers were some of the oldest Cybertronians, some of the first ones sparked after the original seven Primes, and the All-spark gave them abilities the rest of us don't have. It's why their city, Vos, was like a whole different world," Ratchet said, loathing and—fear? Was it fear?—in his tone. "Some seekers could reproduce without the All-spark. They rarely did, because it took a lot of energy and was dangerous. A trine could give energy from their sparks to create a new spark. It would take materials from their frames to create a new frame for itself, and then make what you'd call an egg. Inside the egg, it would develop into a sparkling, and then hatch. Therefore they've been called hatchlings, as opposed to other sparklings, whose frames were commissioned by their families then taken to the Temple to have the priests call a spark from the All-spark itself."

Optimus said, "Yes. The Decepticon seekers must have done this, and some of the hatchlings have survived."

Ratchet said, "But they're seekers. And they're 'Cons."

Diarwen said, "They are no such things. Well, they may be seekers—what do I care if they can fly? I am witch enough to know the difference between the aura of an innocent and that of a Decepticon! What is _wrong_ with you?"

Optimus said, "Ratchet, I find that I must ask that question as well."

"The seekers all went over to Megatron. All of them!"

Optimus said quietly, "And Jetfire returned to us."

Ratchet couldn't argue with that. He threw his servos in the air. "Well, fine! Take the glitches to our bosom! What do we do now?"

Optimus broadcast, ::Barricade, this is Optimus Prime. I am here.::

Out on the distant cargo ship, a hatchway banged open. ::I surrender.::

::Come out of there,:: the Prime ordered.

::I am, I swear, but I got a sick sparkling in here, and I can't move that fast with her. I need help with her, Prime, that's why I surrendered. I don't know what to do for her.:: To Optimus and Ratchet, the 'Con sounded completely frazzled. And then he panicked. "Skimmer, _come back here!"_

A little bright yellow form with even brighter scarlet optics popped up out of the hatch, then hovered above it, looking at them and chittering nonsense over the radio.

A few seconds later, a dark blue one emerged, more cautious than his brother but still curious. Barricade came out, moving very carefully, with the last seekerlet cradled in one servo.

The breakers all started yelling when they heard the noise. They realized they were caught between Barricade on one side, and Optimus and Ratchet on the other. Their only clear escape route was by water; they piled into a boat that was tied to the side of the ship they were cutting up, and took off full speed ahead.

Optimus led the way out onto the deck of one ship, and they had to climb from one to another to get to Barricade, because the old vessels were lashed together side by side in a raft that extended several hulls wide out into the inlet.

Diarwen gave them plenty of room as she easily jumped or climbed the difference in height, often several feet between one deck and the next.

Ratchet said something about her legs, but she had finally run out of patience with that. "My legs are only bruised, not broken, Ratchet. I am fine. Let us concentrate on what we are here to do."

Barricade put the sick sparkling on the deck, much more gently than either Autobot would have expected of him, then knelt on the deck, servos behind his head. The yellow and blue little ones hid behind him.

He growled, "Do what you gotta do, just for the love of Primus don't make them watch."

Optimus said, "I have no intention of putting you down, Barricade, not unless you force me to do so. Do you give your parole?"

"I do."

Ratchet moved forward cautiously. "Let me look at her. What happened?"

"Not enough energon, that's what. Nobot else would help me process it for them. Megatron said the strongest ones would survive," Barricade spat.

"That's why you stole the supplements," Ratchet mused. "She should have shown an immediate improvement."

"But she didn't, and I don't have any other way to help her."

Ratchet reached down to attach a hardline to the little seekerlet's wrist port. The tiny blue and white bot grabbed his digit with her whole little servo and looked up at him, making a series of little chirps and whistles.

Diarwen and Optimus grinned at each other behind Ratchet's back as the old medic grumbled, "Oh, for Primus' sake."

He attached the line, while Optimus kept a close watch on Barricade.

Ratchet told Barricade, "She's ready for programming upgrades to account for more complicated systems that are coming online, that's mostly what's wrong with her. Her processor can't keep up with the demands of her frame. But they all need a lot of routine maintenance. What have you been doing for them, anyway?"

"I don't have the programming to take care of sparklings! Nobot did but that fraggin' Soundwave, and he was no help! I've been keeping them warm and dry, and as clean as possible on this thing, and processing energon for them, but it wasn't like I had enough for myself, much less all of us! Every time I try now, I redline, so I can only feed one of them at a time then wait til I come to and feed the next one."

"Let me check you out," Ratchet said, extruding a hardline as he reached for Barricade's wrist port.

Barricade jerked out of reach, real terror rolling off him in waves.

That didn't surprise Optimus. Getting shot was one thing, but getting reprogrammed was something else again. For too many vorns, Megatron had kept his troops in line by telling them that was what would happen if they let the Autobots capture them alive. Optimus knew that; he had too many memories of a Decepticon about to be captured shouting, "No one's going to reprogram me!" and then putting his own weapon to his helm...and pulling the trigger.

Optimus said, a good deal of compassion in his tone, "Barricade, we never have and never will reprogram an unwilling mech. That was propaganda spread by Megatron. You're safe with us. Ratchet took an oath, unlike Hook. He won't hurt you."

Slowly, unwillingly, Barricade proffered his wrist.

The little yellow sparkling landed on Diarwen's shoulder and stuck the end of her braid in his mouth. She laughed and gently removed it. "Little one, I do not think hair is good for sparklings."

The cheeps he made were unmistakably giggles.

Ratchet disconnected the hardline from Barricade. ::Optimus, he's offlined all his safety overrides and practically let the sparklings cannibalize him. There's been no self-repair at all to his battle damage. I don't think he's capable of driving back to DC. How he got down here, I'll never know.::

::Full Guardian protocols?::

::Definitely. There's no other way he could have prioritized their needs over his own so completely.::

::What do you recommend?::

::I'll disable all his weapons systems and tow him back to DC, unless you have a better idea. He's no real threat to any of us even in a fist fight, not in the shape he's in, as long as we've got him in front of us.::

Optimus nodded. ::Watch him while I search the ship.::

::If you find that stuff he stole, get it while you're down there. I'll need it for all of them. Optimus, where do we put three sparklings?::

::How much room can they take up? They're not even half a meter tall.::

::They fly! And when they have enough energon and all their upgrades, _all_ they'll want to do is fly. And they'll grow. Slag, will they _ever_ grow if they're TC's.::

Optimus nodded. If there had been a need to move to a bigger place before, it had just been moved up the priority list. For now they could fly inside the headquarters building, but that wouldn't last long. He observed, ::They're trine-bonded already. I thought that wouldn't happen until they were younglings.::

::They should have been with their parents and peripherally included in that trine's bond, but since their parents weren't in the picture, their spark-level programming to form a trine of their own kicked in.::

Aloud, Ratchet said to Barricade, "If you'd told us you had sparklings with you, I could have brought the right energon for them, but this is better than midgrade. They will be able to utilize it right out of the cube. Have one yourself, then start feeding the blue one. What are their designations?" he asked, as he retrieved some small cubes of medical-grade energon from his subspace hold.

Barricade answered, "The yellow one is Starskimmer, this one is Stormwing, and you have Skysong."

While Optimus searched the derelict ship, Ratchet made sure the sparklings were all feeding well, especially the sick one. Knowing that Ratchet had his hands full with that little one, Diarwen paid Barricade the compliment of keeping her eyes on him as she fed Skimmer. No warrior was ever truly harmless.

Optimus found little of interest in the ship's hold, other than the supplements that Ratchet needed for the sparklings.

When they were ready to leave, Barricade helped put the full and drowsy sparklings in Optimus' cab with Diarwen. If they were lucky, the little trine would nap all the way back to DC.

After Barricade transformed to his alt mode, Ratchet put him into recharge with a medical override and took him in tow.

Optimus followed, so that he could see Barricade if he woke unexpectedly. Diarwen said, "We do not have child seats for them. What happens if you need to stop suddenly?"

"Put one of them near an armor plate and you'll see," Optimus told her, and Diarwen put Skimmer up to Optimus' door. The little seeker locked on—magnetized himself to Optimus, she saw, and then he folded in his tiny wings and fell into a deep recharge.

"Well—that works!" she laughed. She worked around his gear shift to set the other sparklings on his passenger door.

"It's called magnalocking," he explained. "Adults most commonly use it to keep uncertain footing on metal flooring, or in zero gravity. Sparklings prefer to recharge magnalocked to an adult. Try moving one."

She laughed, softly, unwilling to disturb the little ones. "I will take your word for it. It is better to have them quiet during a long trip."

End Part 8


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Disclaimers in Part 1

They rolled into NEST HQ about 0200. Optimus had already told the Sisters what to expect, so there was no mob of people crowding in, pressing close, trying to see the sparklings, and in consequence scaring them half to death.

Instead, Chromia and her sisters came over to help with them while Mearing kept the NEST troops back. Diarwen gently disengaged the sparklings from Optimus' doors and handed them down to the sisters. Chromia held Skysong with the practiced calm of an experienced mama, while her sisters cooed over the little brothers.

Then Skimmer saw Barricade unconscious, in tow behind Ratchet, and let out an ear-splitting screech. Brother and sister joined in. Arcee and Flareup struggled to hold onto the wriggling infants. Flareup asked, "Chromia, what's wrong with them?"

"They've imprinted on Cade," she explained, trying to comfort Skysong.

Ratchet retracted his hauling chains and transformed to wake Barricade up. As soon as the 'Con transformed, the seekerlings flew to him and maglocked to his chestplates. He spoke to them in quiet, reassuring tones, and terrified screeching gave way to frightened little chirps.

Ratchet ushered him into medbay, seekerlings and all, followed by Diarwen and the Sisters.

Mearing told Optimus, "I just got a heads-up from the General. He's running interference with some DOD people who want to examine the sparklings."

"What DOD people?" Optimus asked.

Charlotte scowled. "The kind we don't want within a mile of them."

"Understood."

"Last night, I spoke to the President's chief of staff, and he assured me that no one is to come anywhere near them without your permission. But in the real world, not everything gets approved through the White House. We'll have to be more aware of non-NEST personnel on base than we have been."

Optimus said, "Yes, we've been letting anyone with a government ID and clearance in, but we're going to have to arrange another layer of security for the sparklings. I would appreciate any information that you can find about the people who are showing an uncommon interest in them."

"General Morshower is already actively tracking down the DOD connections," Mearing said. "As Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, he has far more contacts over there than I do—and he has a number of small grandchildren."

Optimus nodded. Glenn Morshower was a very even tempered person, but when he did get angry it was a sight to behold. That would be the kiss of death for any defense contractor's hope of future work.

Optimus had no doubt that the General would stop this particular threat in its tracks with one simple phone call to a CEO somewhere. It was the threats that they didn't know about that concerned the Prime.

He told the Director, "Sometime tomorrow we need to discuss future arrangements. I would like to move the headquarters back to either Mission City or Diego Garcia, or perhaps you have a better location—but the point is, we need more room, somewhere to keep Barricade and any of the other Decepticons who are intelligent enough to surrender, and better security for all our dependents, human and Cybertronian alike."

Mearing nodded. "There are a few other places. I'll have a short list of possible locations for you in the morning."

"Thank you, Director." Optimus transformed and went to medbay.

Flareup was sitting on one berth playing with the two little mechlings while Ratchet had Barricade lying on the other hooked up to a diagnostic computer. Skysong was lying on Chromia's lap while her OS upgrades finished installation. The other medical computer was monitoring her, and Ratchet frequently looked up from his work to check it.

Optimus asked, "Ratchet?"

"Barricade is going to be right here for at least a couple of days."

Barricade made a noise like he was about to object, but a glare from Ratchet silenced him. "You're the reason those sparklings are still online, but you nearly offlined yourself in the process. You know your energon stream does more than deliver fuel from one place to another. Various other compounds leach into the energon once it enters our system, to be transported throughout our frames as they're needed. That's why it's pink in the cube, and blue if you cut yourself. Whenever you linked with the sparklings to feed them, you determined what resources they needed and concentrated those compounds in the energon that you gave them. Then your body leached more from your own frame to compensate. That wouldn't have harmed you if you'd been taking in enough to make up the difference, but since you weren't, it's going to take you a few orns to recover. For at least the first orn, you're staying right there, if I have to weld your aft to the berth."

"Then what?" said Barricade, transferring his attention to the Prime.

Optimus said, "We haven't decided yet. The humans insist that you be kept in custody."

"Surprised they didn't order me scrapped," the Decepticon replied. "What about the sparklings?"

Ratchet said, "They'll be fine." He pointed to the femmes as proof. Obviously with Chromia and her sisters around, nobody was going to mess with the sparklings. "They're behind schedule developing their frames, but they'll start catching up as soon as they've had their upgrades."

The medic adjusted the mix of chemicals flowing into the 'Con's energon lines. Barricade watched the sparklings for a little while, but Ratchet's potion swiftly forced him back into recharge.

Chromia said, "If any 'Con were going to do this to himself for somebot else's sparklings, it'd be Cade."

Optimus nodded. "Yes, it would be. How badly has he damaged himself, Ratchet?"

"Well, he's no real threat right now, let's put it that way. He won't ever be a front-liner again without a reformat; one good punch from just about anyone could offline him. If he gets his guns back, he technically _could_ do as much damage as ever as a marksman. But that's beside the point. As long as the sparklings are happy, he isn't going anywhere, and he won't do anything that might endanger them. That's what fully-active guardian protocols do. Their needs always come first. It's as irrevocable as a bond."

Diarwen said, "So he has chosen his own terms of surrender."

Optimus said, "I think we can honor that."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Charlotte Mearing took the stairs to the top of Prime's desk two at a time in spite of the fact that she had only gotten two hours' sleep the night before. "I have the alternate locations for you, Prime."

"Tell me about them."

"Fort McPherson is located in the greater Atlanta area. I don't think it meets your needs; it's surrounded by residential areas. It _does_ have a golf course associated with it that would make a good place for the sparklings to fly. I've been there a couple of times, though, and I really don't like the idea of trying to secure it."

Optimus downloaded an aerial view and tended to agree. "And?"

"The former NAS Brunswick, in Maine, now known as Brunswick Landing. It closed a year ago in January. There is an attempt in the works to repurpose it as a business park, but there are several hangars that aren't in use right now. The town of Brunswick is close by, but this isn't a major metropolitan area like Atlanta. The biggest problem with it is that Maine has four seasons and three of them are winter. It will be necessary to maintain an energon production facility somewhere else, with all the headaches that entails."

"Still, it's better than Atlanta."

"Yes. There is also Fort Monmouth, in New Jersey. It's just across the bay from Brighton Beach. I think that puts it far too near New York City and Philadelphia for our purposes. It's only superior to this facility in that it is larger."

"I think we can rule that out."

"The best of this bunch is a facility adjacent to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio. There are two large hangers which were used for experimental aircraft during the 1990s; they've been used for storage since then. In a lot of ways it could be our best bet; the trouble is housing for dependents, which is mostly privatized. Still, the nearest private property is almost a mile away. As the sparklings get older, it...probably wouldn't hurt to be next door to an Air Force base."

Prime nodded thoughtfully. "That's something to keep in mind. I have flight protocols but that is definitely not the same thing as being a pilot. None of us are, and someone is going to have to teach them."

"How large will they grow?"

"There's no way of knowing that, Director. Some small seekers were no larger than the Big Twins, Starscream was about average, and Thundercracker was on the large side.

Any who were larger than he was would usually have been reformatted into smartship frames."

"So they may or may not need special facilities when they are full grown."

"That's right."

"How long will that take?"

"Again, that varies. Generally, the larger the bot, the longer the youngling stage, but there are other factors. I was a youngling for nearly one thousand of your years, but I grew up in peacetime. Bumblebee, Skids and Mudflap, on the other hand, reached their full growth in just under a vorn, about eighty years, and were capable of fighting for several years before that. We kept them out of it as much as possible, but the war...there was more than one occasion when they were forced to defend themselves while they were still very young."

Mearing said, "A lot of our young people go to college after they get out of the service. I don't know if there's an equivalent, but maybe...Bumblebee and the Little Twins can make up for some of that lost time now."

"I keep coming back to the Mission City base. Diego Garcia has its advantages, but the logistics involved with travel from there aren't any better now than they were when we left. Also, now that we're publicly known, and won't have to hide, there's plenty of room for us around Mission City. Housing will be somewhat crowded, but there is enough room for all the dependents."

"As you say, there's plenty of land. We could build more housing to alleviate the crowding," Mearing said.

The medbay door opened with a bang. Two little streaks of yellow and blue shot out and zoomed around the commons, followed by Ratchet, who stepped out with a small blue and white form on his head. Skysong detached herself and jumped, gliding a short distance before she flew up to land on a rafter. Unlike her brothers, who were laughing and babbling to each other as they played tag around the roof beams, she hunched down on one of the rafters and peeked over the side, eyes bright with curiousity.

::Ratchet, what's going on?:: Optimus asked.

::Sparklings don't belong in medbay unless they've got something wrong with them! Your prisoner needs to rest and that isn't going to happen in the middle of a playground!:: The healer huffed. ::They've probably never had full tanks before. They're going to be hyper for a while. They need room to fly around.::

Optimus made an announcement that the sparklings were in the commons. All over the building, NEST troops looked up from what they were doing to locate the babies, then examined their areas for anything that presented a danger to them. There was a brief commotion as things got covered, shut down, put in lockers or otherwise secured. Somebody shut the human-sized door, which had been opened to let in some air.

Mearing asked, "Do they understand language yet?"

"Yes and no. They understand a very simplified version of Cybertronian. Most of the sounds they make are just baby talk, but they should start saying a word or two any time now. They can't download language files yet, but they will learn new words in both English and Cybertronian as they go along."

"Oh, yes, babies certainly do that," she said dryly. It was easy to imagine which words they were going to learn first around a bunch of soldiers.

One of the mechanics let out a yell as Skimmer tumbled out of control, straight for him. Rather than let the little guy slam into the deuce-and-a-half he was working on, he intercepted the tiny daredevil, and landed hard on his butt for his pains. Neither of them were hurt, but this clearly wasn't a very good playground, any more than medbay was.

Mearing and Prime looked at each other. Expediting the move to Mission City went to the top of the priority list.

The mechanic got up, laughing, and gave the kid a hug before sending him off to play with his brother.

Prime said, "I apologize for the inconvenience, Director. I doubt sparkling-sitting was in the job description."

Mearing shook her head. "Think nothing of it, Prime. Most soldiers are great with kids. Those three will have dozens of aunts and uncles before too long. Is it an issue to have Skysong in ops?"

"I don't want any of them here if there's an incident. They've probably seen too much already that no sparkling should see, and we don't need to traumatize them further. But right now it's quiet, and everybody knows she's up there. She's fine for now."

The whole ops team got busy with preparations for the move to Nevada. Optimus took a call from General Morshower.

The Marine was sitting in his office, and from the rumpled look of his usually neatly-pressed uniform he had been there since the night before. "Got some good news for you for a change, Prime. NCIS investigated the outfit who had designs on the babies, and when they did a little digging it turns out they were in cahoots with Gould. They're making arrests as we speak. All hell's breaking loose at DARPA. Those little guys haven't been on the team for twenty-four hours, and they've already managed to bring down a threat to national security," he grinned.

Optimus had expected no less of Morshower, but the news of the arrests still came as a relief. "Thank you, sir."

"When do I get to see them?"

"One moment, sir." Optimus turned and reached up to gently detach the little femme from her perch over his head. "General, may I introduce Skysong."

The man's severe gaze softened. "Well, isn't she a little cutie," he said. "Are we sure these three are the only ones the 'Cons had out there?"

"Barricade knows of no other survivors," Optimus said. "He was lucky to save these three."

"Is there any assistance that I can offer, Optimus?"

"I think we have everything covered for now, Glenn. If it hasn't crossed your desk yet, it will shortly: we're taking them to Mission City."

"All right, I'll ask General Black to alert Nellis to be ready to support you when you get there."

"Thank you, General."

After the call ended, Optimus called Flareup over and gave her a very sleepy little Skysong. "Better take her back to recharge in medbay, where she can see Barricade when she wakes up."

Flareup nodded. "I'm not sure Ratchet is cut out to be a sparkling-sitter, but the sparklings will be happier."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Two days later, before returning to Chicago, Prime, Ratchet, Diarwen and Mearing flew out to Nellis to check out the old NEST base and make sure it was ready to move in. If it was, they would start the process of relocating. That was more complicated than it seemed on the surface; they not only had to secure it, but also keep themselves safe in their present locations until they were ready to leave, and continue to maintain security on the way there.

Everyone was happy to escape the cramped confines of the C-130's hold. Diarwen rode with Optimus, while Mearing climbed into Ratchet's cab.

They drove through Mission City on the way out to the base. In four years, most of the damage to downtown had been repaired. The little town had a resurgence of notoriety after the "flakes" who had insisted they had seen giant robots had been publicly vindicated; nothing was more satisfying than a resounding I-told-you-so. But the news crews were long gone now.

Diarwen said, "It seems like a nice town. It's bigger than I expected."

"It's a suburb of Las Vegas, and a lot of people stationed at Nellis live here," Optimus told her.

"I see. NEST's families should feel at home then."

The base was fifteen miles from town, on a narrow road that had seen little traffic other than the military caretakers who drove up from Nellis every so often.

The desert heat hit Diarwen like a blast furnace when she got out to open the gate. She took in the stark beauty of the desert hills while Optimus and Ratchet drove through.

The base wasn't much to look at, on first glance. Three Quonset huts, one of them a barracks and the others large hangars, flanked a single airstrip. Further back, a street was lined with two-up-and-two-down apartment houses. At the end of the street was a service building. Nothing was moving except blowing sand, and a lone tumbleweed making its way down the airstrip.

Mearing climbed out of Ratchet's driver's seat and looked around. "Well, it's quiet."

Ratchet transformed. "Quiet? Enjoy it while it lasts. Wait until you have two sets of twins and thirty or forty screaming kids running around—and now you can add the Trine to that!"

Diarwen commented, "They certainly liked building with steel."

Optimus asked, "Will that be a problem?"

"Not if I take care. I may have to do some work in my personal quarters, but that is true anywhere." She would also have to wear long pants, long-sleeved shirts and gloves even more constantly than in Washington to prevent a serious accident, but she refused to complain about that. If they were going to be here permanently, she might have to find some nearby place to live, depending on how disruptive the presence of so much iron became over weeks and months.

They explored the Quonset huts first. Aside from a thick layer of dust, everything seemed to be in good shape. Mearing said, "It really doesn't look as bad as I was expecting, having been mothballed for three years."

Optimus and Diarwen looked at each other. Three years was no time at all from their point of view. Humans simply did not build for the long term.

Ratchet opened the door to medbay. Everything was exactly as he had left it, empty cabinets, berths shrouded in giant canvas covers. The dust wasn't so bad in here, with another door between medbay and the desert.

Optimus and Ratchet continued to explore the bots' areas, while Mearing and Diarwen checked out the human housing. The barracks was fine, since the crews who came out from Nellis used some of those facilities while they were here.

Most of the housing units, though, had been locked up for three years. The ones they checked at random smelled musty, and were empty of furniture. The utilities were turned off. Mearing made a note to see about that.

"Diarwen, if the Quonset huts are going to be a problem, we could put you in one of these units."

"Thank you, but I think I will be fine. The shell of the building is metal, but the inside seems no different from any other apartment. When I heard 'Quonset hut' and 'barracks' in the same sentence, I was expecting something directly from World War II, not a two-person apartment."

They locked the building behind them, and walked down the sidewalk, looking around for signs of serious damage. Nothing major was immediately apparent, though sand and tumbleweeds had piled up in corners and a few broken windows had been boarded over with plywood, instead of being replaced.

It was a long trip back to the hangars in the desert heat. Diarwen found it exhausting, but supposed that she would adjust after a while, as she had in the Middle East.

Ratchet got two bottles of water out of his subspace for them, and called to Prime, "How does Ops look?"

"About the same as everything else."

Mearing asked, "Will this be all right for the sparklings, Ratchet?"

He nodded. "It should be fine. This actually is about the best environment for us that Earth offers, with low humidity and plenty of solar energy available. They will need to stay indoors during the hottest part of the day, because their armor will heat up quickly in direct sunlight, especially Stormwing, and their cooling systems aren't as efficient as an adult's. We will also have to take care to keep them free of sand. But they will be able to get plenty of exercise in the mornings and evenings."

"All right," Mearing said. "I'll get the move started."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

It was late evening by the time they returned to Nellis, where their C-130 was already waiting. Optimus and Ratchet rolled up the ramp, and airmen swarmed around them to lock them down securely.

They were used to it, if they didn't like it much—no more than human passengers liked wearing seat belts But they accepted it as the price of swift travel: having a load of their mass shift position unexpectedly could be very dangerous in the air.

One of the airmen apologized that they were going to be flying through some rough weather.

Optimus acknowledged him, but felt Diarwen tense and heard her heartbeat speed up. "Are you all right?" he said to her.

"Yes, my friend, but I must confess that I am something of a white-knuckle flier. I truly hate flying in bad weather."

"They'll detour around the worst of it," Optimus assured her.

"Yes, but I wonder what sort of weather that Air Force pilots define as 'troublesome?' Anything short of a category 5 hurricane, they are likely to consider a minor inconvenience!"

Optimus' rumbling laughter filled the cargo bay. "I won't argue with that, but I have every confidence in their ability."

Diarwen took a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing tension, as Optimus had seen the NEST troops do on many occasions. She managed to relax quite a bit—until the plane bounced on takeoff. Then she jumped hard against the seat belts he had wrapped securely around her, and muttered a long string of invective.

Optimus didn't need to ask her to translate those particular Sidhe phrases—their general definition was clear.

They had a four-hour flight back to Chicago, and his companion was going to be miserable the entire way if he didn't distract her. He also wanted to know about something that hadn't yet come up in conversation between them: "Diarwen, I am curious. When we found the sparklings, it was readily apparent to you that they were infants, although you had never seen the young of my species before. How did you know?"

"When I see auras, they have colors—do you see them so?"

"Not precisely. I sense varying levels of electrical energy. I know that certain frequencies of that energy would be perceived by human eyes as colored light, but I'm using other senses besides my optics."

"We do not, strictly speaking, 'see' them either. But, however we perceive them, our brains interpret that information as light and color. If you can translate those frequencies into color, you should still be able to read them. The hatchlings' auras were, first, smaller than Barricade's, and, like those of all children, primarily the pure white of innocence, with flashes of very bright, clear colors that indicate their current emotional state. Take that airman over there who is checking Ratchet's tie-downs. What colors do you sense?"

"We're going to need a common frame of reference before I can tell you that. I could give you the frequencies in Cybertronian units of measure, but that's of limited usefulness."

"I see what you mean. To me, his aura is a clear blue, with accents of yellow-green. That blue indicates a calm, cool personality, someone who is ordinarily very collected and in control. Now, the yellow-green speaks to attention to detail, orderliness, sometimes perfectionism, but I do not think that to be the case here. When that man has a job to do, he can be depended on to get it done properly."

"Do the colors always mean the same thing?"

"Not always," she cautioned. "There are as many billions of possible colors and combinations as there are individuals. What can be steadfastness in one person can be stubbornness in another. Some, like that young man at this particular moment, are very easy to read. Others are much more complicated."

"Director Mearing has a strange field pattern."

"She habitually keeps a reflective shield up. Whether it is a talent of hers or something she learned at the CIA, I have no idea. She constructs it so well that she is impossible to read."

"Do our fields follow the same patterns that you would expect from humans?"

Diarwen nodded. "It seems so, in general at least. I see Ratchet's aura as varying shades of green, which is exactly what I would expect from a healer. But some of those shades have other meanings in humans. In you, I see the bright and clear reds I would expect from a warrior and a leader, as well as the violet shades of a high priest. Again, though, there are variations and other colors that come and go from moment to moment—that too is true of everyone. I hesitate to make the assumption that I can directly correlate what I know of those variations in humans to your people. Perhaps in another century or two. Also, like the Sidhe, your auras change as you speak, but not in the ways I expect. That confuses me sometimes."

"I noticed that too. You don't do it deliberately, though, do you? For you, it's more like facial expressions or body language?"

"Aye. I was brought up to consider my aura—my whole astral body for that matter—as just another part of my being. But are you saying that you control your aura deliberately? As part of the sentences that you are speaking?"

"Yes. It's more a matter of emphasis, or expression. In English, there are five or ten synonyms for the same concept, and then the emphasis that the speaker places on different words in the same sentence can change its meaning completely. In Cybertronian, the definition of a word is very precise. Field variations usually express other concepts such as degree, or for instance if the speaker intends the statement to be taken humorously rather than literally. There are terms for those concepts, but they are normally used in written language, not in conversation."

"I must be missing half of what you are saying!"

"That would have been true four years ago, when we first landed, but I've had four years of immersion in English. We did pick up television and signals on the way here, and later were able to tap into the Internet, but it was much more confusing than informative until we learned not only to translate the languages, but to dissociate the body language from the spoken information. You have no idea how much confusion a weatherman who is worried about his pending divorce can convey."

Diarwen laughed, which relaxed her for at least a moment, and Optimus continued, "When we first encountered human beings face-to-face, though, it was a real challenge to adapt to a purely spoken language, simply because humans do have electrical fields. We had to learn that they don't use them to communicate."

"I will be paying more attention now that I know this," Diarwen said.

For a while, Diarwen explained the different aura colors and their generally-accepted interpretations. But since color names were subjective and frequencies were not, there was no shortcut to observation.

"I noticed that you could always tell when I was starting to get tired," Optimus said.

Diarwen said, "I looked, as you can, for streaks of gray in your aura, or gray areas around wounds. If the gray is a confined to the area of a wound, and if it is darker, that is an area of blocked energy flow, probably caused by pain. More generalized, lighter gray indicates weariness or sickness. That is the short explanation. Ratchet could give you more details on how this pertains to your people."

Lightning flashed off the port wing, and then the plane hit an air pocket. Diarwen bit back an outcry as the craft plummeted thousands of feet. But it leveled off, and the crew's only reactions were a few curses about spilled coffee and some good-natured ribbing about the pilots' abilities.

The captain radioed Optimus, "Is everything all right back there, sir?"

"We're fine, thank you." He reassured Diarwen, "It was only a little turbulence."

"I know," she said. And intellectually, she did know it. Embarrassed, she explained, "I was in a plane crash once. It was long ago, but it appears I have yet to get over it."

"What happened?"

"Some friends and I were exploring the Amazon rain forest. Small sea planes were the only way into the area, since they could land on a river. But ours hit the top of a tree. The plane flipped over, caught fire, and landed upside down in the water. We did not know if we would drown or burn alive, and I still do not know how we got out. Somehow we did. They told me I swam back for my sword and bow. All that I recall is the awful impact, and then fire and water—and then it was hours later in the jungle. 'Twas a good thing I did have my bow, though, or we might have had to live on grubs and berries. It was a month before an Indian hunting party found us and brought us to a mission."

"That sounds like quite an adventure."

"It was indeed that. An unbelievably beautiful place, but deadly to the unprepared, and we had lost nearly everything in the crash. Bugs, an anaconda that I swear was as long as you are tall, and did I mention bugs?"

"That must have been an awful experience, but I doubt your friends would have survived without you."

"Oh, I am not sure I would say that. They were archaeologists looking for a lost city, and they were hardly inexperienced in the jungle. I was every bit as glad to have them along as they were to have me."

"Did you find it?"

"What?"

"The lost city."

"Ah. Not on that trip, and when we did, the government classified everything. We never knew why," Diarwen said. "But—this was in the 1950s—there were both Russian agents and some men who I believe were Nazis also looking for it. We were all quite prepared to believe that there _were_ issues of national security involved."

"It does sound intriguing, though."

"Adventures with that lot always seemed to involve a great deal of running through exotic places to get away from people with guns, and then being threatened with prison if we dared to breathe a word of it to anyone. But I must admit, those were good times even so. I miss the friends who took me with them on those adventures, Optimus."

"Sixty years is a long while for them to still be alive, but it does sound like they truly lived every moment to its fullest while they were here."

"Yes. They did that." She gave a sad smile, but it seemed to Optimus that she was looking right through him, across the years and halfway around the world.

The plane was buffeted by the winds again. Optimus tightened his seat belts around her, the closest he could come to a hug in alt form. "Diarwen, I can hear the pilots and monitor the plane. The weather is unpleasant but we are safe, I promise you. These are very good pilots who have been flying this plane as long as we've been here. They're adjusting our course to avoid dangerous weather."

"Thank you, my friend, for putting up with me."

"We all have our fears. You have good reason for this one."

He almost missed the slight tremor in the hand that rested gently on his steering wheel.

Diarwen took a deep breath. "Well, I think I have about exhausted the distraction value of aura colors. Let me see, what else do we need to go over?"

"Where would you start with any other student?"

"That would depend on the student, and their reasons for wanting to learn, for what humans call 'the Craft,' capital C, encompasses a wide range of disciplines. To begin with, however, there are some basic principles that will always apply. One of these is the Law of Returns. Whatever energy you send out into the universe will eventually return in greater measure. To an extent, we shape the universe around us, just as we shape our own destiny. Intent has a lot to do with that, but some among those effects are simply the laws of nature. If I throw a stone straight up, it is going to fall back to earth and hit me on the head. It amazes me how often apprentices in the Craft forget that simple fact!"

Optimus laughed, and Diarwen smiled and continued, "From this, the Wiccans, the majority of those who practice the Craft, draw their Rede—_An it harm none, do as ye will. _Now, that 'an' in this context means 'if,' or more properly 'so long as.' I am not Wiccan, but I do respect that as a good philosophy, for I know that any negative energy that I send out is going to come back to me. And on the other hand, Optimus, I am no pacifist, for I know that sometimes more harm is done by refusing to act than by taking action, even an action one would normally term 'wrongful.' If one is ambushed, one must fight back. When those who would harm innocents refuse to listen to reason, it is our duty to stand against them."

"Of course," he replied.

"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. But, taking that into consideration, it is necessary to understand that every action taken will carry consequence, perhaps to us and perhaps to others. What we do, whether magickally or mundanely, must be truly necessary, and we had best be ready to pay for it."

"I've never heard that phrased exactly in that way before, but Ironhide and Chromia certainly taught me the concept."

"That is why I carry a sword, Optimus. I was taught that, when conflict is necessary, it is usually better to use mundane means to resolve it where possible. But then I do commonly call upon Fire in battle, so it is not for me to judge others. I am not sure that it is possible to separate the mundane and the magickal that easily. All things have their place in creation."

"That's...crystal clear," he said, in a tone that made it obvious he meant precisely the opposite.

She laughed. "If you are looking for a list of do's and don'ts, then this is the wrong path for you, my friend. Mine is a mystery religion. Most, if not all, pagan paths are. There will be many questions, ethical and otherwise, that neither I nor anyone else can answer for you, which you must experience and learn for yourself. I can guide you along ways that I have already traveled, and that is all. Primus, and perhaps the Matrix, will be your true Guides. As well as your own common sense!"

"It's good to know that I'm not expected to leave that at the door."

"Never! The Gods gave us common sense to use when They could not be with us."

He laughed, and Diarwen smiled and continued, "Another, related concept is the Law of Attraction. Simply put, like draws like. This is the basis of any number of spells, but it also has a place in daily life. What we choose to be attracts more of the same to us."

"So does your philosophy hold that we bring all our misfortune on ourselves by attracting it?"

"No. Absolutely not. Remember I said that we shape our destiny _to an extent,_ but there are always other influences. Other beings make choices too, choices that affect everyone around them, and innocent bystanders can be caught up in a chain of events that those unknown to them set in motion. If you doubt me, think of the civil war that engulfed your planet."

He rumbled, "Yes. There was no way to keep every civilian entirely safe from it, even early on."

She nodded. "Some things are beyond anyone's control, and are simply the way the universe works. Hurricanes form over the sea and must come to land somewhere. Winter snow melts and floods the rivers. Lighting sparks fires which devour all in their path. For that matter, stars go nova. Sometimes it may be a result of one's karma to be caught in the path of such a thing, but in other situations it may simply be the result of being alive in the wrong place at the wrong time. And even of the troubles that we do bring on ourselves—how often do we simply not know such would be the result of what seemed an innocent act at the time?"

"There were schools of philosophy on Cybertron that held it was not necessary to help the unfortunate because their troubles were their destiny, and to change it was to deprive them of a necessary lesson. I never agreed with that, but many of the tower mechs did. It justified the caste system to them."

"Ah, but if being the recipient of an act of kindness was meant to be part of the lesson, then to fail to act is also to throw destiny off its course," she replied. "We too had that discussion. I think every philosophy has. Why is there suffering in the universe? Where is the Divine when calamity overtakes decent folk? Those questions, I think, are the basis of most philosophies and almost all faiths. Every path must answer them in some way."

"I can see that learning what you have to teach is going to be far more complex than simply learning to read an energy field or call Fire to a weapon."

"Such is the life of a high priestess or a high priest, Optimus. You are already much farther along the path than you give yourself credit for. And the learning will be a two-way street. I will learn as much, if not more, from you than I will be able to teach you. I _will_ say this, though: not everything that happens in life is meant to be a lesson. But, if we let Them, our deities will help us to learn from the things that do happen to us, and bring some good out of it. We never stop learning, and that is one of Their most precious gifts to us."

For the remainder of that flight, they continued a discussion dear to them both , occasionally punctuated for Diarwen by moments of sheer terror as the plane made its way through the storm. Optimus knew that he could do nothing, really, except keep her company—maybe this day's lesson was simply that there was comfort to be offered, and accepted, while walking a shared path with a friend.

End Part 9


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10

Disclaimers in Part 1

Optimus and Ratchet rolled onto the tarmac at O'Hare International Airport into a heavy downpour. They, and Charlotte and Diarwen, had been on the plane closer to five hours than the four they had expected, thanks to the weather. The Sidhe figured it had to be going on five o'clock in the morning in Chicago, since they had crossed a time zone or two, but she was too tired to dig her phone out of her pocket to look.

O'Hare had been the busiest airport in the country before the attack. It still was, having been reopened to those just changing planes here, but aid flights and military traffic had made up for a lot of the civilian traffic that the wounded city was not generating now.

They passed a bus full of evacuees who were returning to some of the least damaged areas. The bus driver recognized them and blasted the horn, and the windows were crowded with waving, cheering passengers. Optimus returned the salute.

He and Ratchet joined a line of snarled traffic headed for Chicago. By the time they finally got back to the hotel, the sun was coming up over Lake Michigan.

Sadly, the Governor had declared that the rescue phase was over, and moved the city on to recovery: no one not found alive at this point could be expected to survive. Those whose loved ones were still within the city's wounds had themselves to go unwilling from hope into mourning.

But now the constant roar of heavy engines brought the city back to life as the long job of removing the rubble began. Engineers were examining the buildings that were left standing to determine which could be repaired and which would have to be condemned. There was already a wrangle starting about which structures should be rebuilt first, and how, although nothing would happen until after all recoverable remains had been removed from the battleground.

Sunstreaker was up and around, but still confined to the compound. Jolt had yet to allow Brains to leave Optimus' trailer, where the little bot had been recovering out of the weather. He and Wheelie had the door open so they could watch the goings-on, but they were sitting far enough back not to get rained on.

Ironhide, Wheeljack and Mirage stopped to greet Prime and Ratchet on their way out to begin their day's work. Ironhide told the other two, "Go ahead, I'll catch up."

They waved and headed south to their assigned job. Ironhide waited with Optimus as he stopped near the side entrance of the hotel to let Diarwen out, then the Prime transformed and the two of them went over to the gravel lot where Sideswipe was waiting to report. Ratchet decanted Mearing, then joined them. The medic checked in with Jolt, gave Optimus a few last-minute medical orders, then went south to the stadium to meet the CH-53 that would take him back to his patients in DC.

Mearing shook rain from her hair: they had gotten soaked just dashing the few feet to the hotel lobby. "Welcome to Chicago," she said wryly. "Did you get any sleep on the plane?"

"Ach, no. I hate flying in bad weather. I always tell myself I shall never go up in one of those things again, and then I end up doing it anyway."

"Goes with the territory, I'm afraid."

"I shall get something to eat and then try to sleep for a few hours, unless I am needed immediately. And yourself?"

"I slept a little. I meant to catch up on some work, but the flight crew asked me to turn my laptop off. Ratchet was recharging, so I had no one to talk to. I just took a nap."

"Well, you have my admiration for being able to do that."

They put their things in their rooms. By the time they got to the mess, the serving line had closed, as most of the soldiers were already at work. Mearing had changed clothing, leaving her hair still damp.

They were too late for a hot breakfast. After milk and cereal, Diarwen was so tired when she got up the long, steep stairs to her room that she was tempted to leave off caring for her burn until later, but her warrior's conscience chided her that such would have been stupid. She sighed and got out her supplies, then unbuttoned her damp jacket and eased her mail shirt over her head.

The rain had not soaked through to the gambeson that she wore beneath it, so once she had hung both items over chairs, she finally peeled off the cotton tee that she wore next to her skin and tossed that into the laundry. Her bandages went into a trash bag.

A good washing felt wonderful, after the desert heat of the day before. She had been spoiled by the ready availability of water for showers in DC.

The iron burn was healed enough now that tending it was a painful process, yet the dead skin must be removed so that the new could grow. Once she had that chore out of the way, she finally fell into bed.

A nightmare about the crash woke her sooner than she would have liked. She tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning for a while she realized that she was up for the day.

She looked out the window. Only Jolt and Sunstreaker were still in the lot. Jolt was under the large tent that the medics had set up, helping out the NEST CMO. Sunstreaker was outside, in alt form to shed the rain better. Boredom fairly radiated off him as he lazed near the river's edge watching some large helicopters hovering over the wrecked Decepticon ship.

She collected her rain poncho and went downstairs. Graham was in charge of the command post. He smiled and greeted her with a cheerful, "Good morning, Lady Diarwen."

A British soldier did not hesitate over her title. She smiled in return. "Good morning, Leftenant. What have you for me to do today?"

"Perhaps you saw the Corps of Engineers working at the crash site of the Decepticon carrier? They would like to clear it from the river today so that barges can be brought in to remove some of the debris. They've requested your assistance in making certain the thing is quite safe to move."

"Of course. Where shall I meet their boat?"

"They are using a landing just down here, between the State Street and Wabash Avenue Bridges, on this side of the river."

"I see. Thank you. I'll go down there immediately."

The landing was only a couple of blocks from the hotel, but thanks to a large water-filled hole between the Marina towers, people were being asked to cross the Dearborne Street Bridge to Wacker Drive and then come back north across the Wabash Avenue bridge.

As she was going west on Wacker Drive, where some of the fiercest fighting had been, several construction workers stopped what they were doing at the sound of a loud whistle. Diarwen asked one of them, "What's happening?"

He pointed to where several police officers and firefighters were gathering. A number of wrecked vehicles had been removed, and the last of these was a police car. Diarwen needed no more explanation. "Oh, I see."

After a while, an ambulance arrived, and everyone nearby stood at attention while two flag-draped stretchers were carried out, escorted by an honor guard of police officers. In the distance, heavy engines growled as the work continued, but here, all was silence except for the CPD officers' measured steps, and the gentle fall of the rain on the shattered concrete, Mother Nature's tears washing the city clean. A few of Diarwen's own fell to join them.

Diarwen sheathed her sword. The construction workers put their hardhats back on, and, subdued, went back to work when the whistle sounded again.

When those two officers had reported for duty that morning, they expected to return to their families at the end of the shift. They could have had no idea they would become names on the memorial that the city was planning.

And if they had? They would have done their duty, notwithstanding.

She crossed the river, and made her way down to a boat dock where several Corps of Engineers soldiers were gathered around a computer.

"Excuse me, may I ask who is in charge here?"

"That'd be me," a tall African-American woman whose name tag and insignia pronounced her to be Lieutenant Colonel Hawthorne said.

"Colonel. I am Diarwen ni Gilthanel. Lt. Graham said you had need of me."

"Yeah, if you don't mind—we're getting ready to bring in the Mi-26 and haul that wrecked cruiser out of here. But first we need to make sure it's safe to move it. If there are hostiles hiding out on it, I'd like to be aware of that before _before_ anyone goes inside—my people or the bots. Optimus Prime and Colonel Lennox both say that you'd know."

Diarwen nodded. "It does not seem so from here. Can you get me nearer?"

Hawthorne gestured to a boat. "Can you tell the difference between a dead one and one that's just—sleeping? Unconscious?"

"Yes, most likely, though a gravely injured one who wished to appear dead may very well be able to play 'possum, as you say," Diarwen said.

They boarded, and with a soldier wielding a boat hook in the prow to fend off large pieces of debris, arrived safely at the hulk.

The Sidhe carefully examined the wrecked flier. "Colonel, I do not perceive any evidence of live Decepticons aboard this ship."

Optimus jumped into the water and crossed to them, standing waist deep in the river channel. Up close, the 'Con flier was much bigger than Diarwen had thought it was from the shore, big enough that he would be able to walk inside it—once they got the hatch open.

When that had been accomplished, the crashed craft was revealed to be half-full of water and dead Decepticons. Optimus asked Hawthorne, "What are you going to do with the flier once we get it out of here?"

"It's going to 51, along with all the other enemy vehicles that we've recovered. What did you think we'd do with them?" she asked.

"I suppose there is nothing to be done about that," Prime said, "But I would hate to lose the scrap metal after your people have finished studying them. We can put it to good use."

"If it were up to me—these carriers are all alike, I don't know how many of them they think the eggheads need to tinker with."

Optimus thought of Wheeljack, and supposed that problems with "the eggheads" were universal. He rumbled agreement.

"You'll have to talk to someone over my pay grade about salvaging them, though," Hawthorne said. "Let's get the remains out, then we'll get this thing out of here."

Ironhide swam across and climbed in. "Those slaggin' mini-bots really made a mess of this thing," he commented, with a great deal of admiration.

Optimus agreed, "So they did. Help me get the casualties out."

Hawthorne ordered the boat's pilot, "Back it up, give them some room."

Diarwen watched Optimus and Ironhide remove the dead, treating enemy soldiers with what respect and dignity they could, given the need to carry them across the river. When all were laid out side by side on the bank, Optimus traced a glyph on each one's servo, and said a quiet prayer.

Diarwen realized she knew nothing of the Cybertronians' burial customs. Once again it was clear to her just how much an outsider she was, not just to one culture, but to two.

Another boat came up, this one carrying a large tank. Ironhide supervised draining the energon—aviation grade was far too flammable to try moving the hulk with it aboard. Hawthorne asked Optimus, "Do you want that or do I give it to the hazmat people?"

"We can use it," Optimus replied, "for weapons loads if nothing else."

Ironhide told the soldiers, "I'll go with you to help unload that tank off the boat."

Hawthorne spoke into her radio, "Tell the Russians to bring up Catherine the Great!"

After a few minutes, they heard the distant roar of huge rotors. A gigantic helicopter eventually came over the buildings. Hawthorne's boat bobbed in its downdraft, and Optimus turned down his audials to deal with the thunderous racket. He scanned it and compared it to his IFF file—the helo was a Mil Mi-26, the largest helicopter in production in the world. On second thought, he made a full transscan of the behemoth. He didn't particularly want one for an alt—but one never knew. For that matter, Wheeljack loved getting transscans of new vehicles to analyze.

Ports on the underside of the Mi-26 opened and several very heavy cables descended. Hawthorne and her crew scrambled all over the flier, attaching the cables.

She asked Optimus, "Can you get down there safely to open some of those seeker bays under the waterline? The faster the water drains out, the easier she'll be to fly out of here."

He went back in and ducked into the wells to open a few hatches, then got clear.

At first, Catherine the Great strained against the combined load of wrecked carrier and water, but then the hulk shifted and inched upward as water cascaded from the opened hatches. As the load lightened, it rose faster.

The construction crews who had stopped to stare at the enormous machine cheered and blasted steam whistles as the wreck came free of the river and slowly rose above the rooftops.

Optimus ducked under the surface of the river to make sure there was nothing dangerous, like unexploded ordnance that might have fallen from the flier, still lying at the bottom of the channel. Visibility was so poor down there he took extra time with the task before he was confident enough to tell Hawthorne it was clear.

She passed the word, and a tug pushing a raft of empty barges started the process of passing through the lock from Lake Michigan.

Optimus offered Diarwen a lift to shore, and she climbed confidently to his shoulder, as graceful as a cat on his wet armor plating. Remembering the incident when they had nearly been hit by the drunk, she got a firm hold on his collar strut before he climbed onto the bank.

Optimus asked Hawthorne, "May I be of more assistance?"

"No, thanks! Sure do appreciate all your help!"

"Any time, Colonel."

Optimus lowered Diarwen to the sidewalk.

"What is to be done now?" She asked.

"We are making a last pass through some of the areas where the workers have not yet brought in heavy equipment. I know that it's unlikely we will find more survivors, but there is no harm in making certain. You are welcome to come with me."

Diarwen said, "Of course."

The center of the Loop had seen less actual battle damage, but there was a great deal of what she could describe only as vandalism, wanton destruction. Diarwen expected a victorious army to sack a conquered city; such had been the way of things for most of her existence. But this had not been robbery—it was murder for sport, laying waste for entertainment. Madness.

Workers with a large truck were busy gathering bones and whatever lay around them into body bags. The weapon that had reduced a living person to bleached bones in a split second often left DNA too degraded to identify.

Diarwen bowed her head. "This...so many families will never know for sure what happened to their loved ones. And there is nothing more that we can do."

Optimus said, "It's true that there is no more we can do. We must accept that."

She nodded. "Yes."

They found no one else trapped alive in the structures, and eventually worked their way far enough south that the buildings were undamaged—or at least sound enough that no one would have been trapped inside. Groups of volunteers, ordinary people, were going door to door knocking and shouting.

They went back to the hotel, where Optimus found Ironhide and Will. Optimus asked, "Will, is our presence here going to be useful from now on?"

Will said, "Not according to Morshower. He wants us to get Mission City operational in case the remaining 'Cons get their act together."

"I agree. If we had non-combatants then they could be of a great deal of assistance. Possibly others will arrive in time. But we will better serve by preparing for any mop-up operations that become necessary."

Will nodded. "We need to rebuild. I need to recruit troops and train them. That'll take time. How soon can Sunstreaker travel?"

Optimus checked with Jolt on a private channel, then said, "A few more days. Some of us could go on ahead and begin getting things ready. Ironhide, do you think you can keep the Wreckers and the Little Twins in line?"

Ironhide glared at Optimus' teasing tone. "Slag, yeah. We'll drive down there, it might lure some 'Cons out. Lots of wide open spaces to take 'em on."

Optimus said, "I doubt they'll take the bait with such a large group, but there's nothing to stop you from trying."

Ironhide grinned.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

A few days later, Betony and Jaime returned. Lennox had arranged for them to haul a flatbed carrying Sunny to Mission City as soon as Jolt cleared him to travel, and after that they would be picking up a load of relief supplies in Las Vegas. According to Jolt, they still had another day or two here, which meant that Diarwen and her friends could celebrate Litha together.

They discovered on the Internet that many Chicago-area pagans and Wiccans were having a public ritual in a park north of the city, and planned to go.

Optimus asked Diarwen, "What is this festival?"

"It is a modern version of the ancient Midsummer's Day celebrations. The Internet page that I sent you about the Wheel of the Year probably called it that. Litha is another name for it, which modern Pagans have been using for a few decades. This celebration marks the high point of the God's power, the power of the male principal. This is the day when the sun begins to wane and the harvest approaches."

"I find the symbolism of an Earth-based religion both intriguing and beautiful."

"What sort of festivals do your people celebrate?"

"There were more of them, but they were less frequent, being celebrated every vorn instead of every year. The most important was the Festival of Liberation, which celebrated our independence from Quintesson slavery. Before the war, it lasted an orn—nearly two Earth weeks—and it was a time like the American Thanksgiving and Fourth of July combined. It was traditional to return to one's birth family or cohort during that time. Each city had its own customs, but nearly all included fireworks, as well as races and other games. None have truly been held since the war began."

"I am sorry."

"No, don't be. We will be creating new traditions now, but I hope we don't forget the best of the old. One of the sites that you listed says that Midsummer's, or Litha, was not traditionally Celtic."

"Well, yes and no. We had four major festivals before the Christians came, the fire festivals which were held on the cross-quarter days—Samhain, which was the beginning of winter and our New Year's Day; Imbolc, or Brigit's Day; Beltane, the beginning of summer and the celebration of the marriage of the Lady and the Lord; and Lughnasadh, the first harvest. The equinox and solstice festivals were Germanic in origin. We did mark those days, but they were relatively minor in our calendar, when compared to the fire festivals. Modern paganism combines the two cycles. There is certainly nothing against Sidhe custom in adopting a new reason for a celebration!" she smiled. "We live in _this_ culture, not the ones that originated the names for the festivals. As you say, new traditions that, we hope, preserve the best of the old."

"Tell me about this minor celebration of the Sidhe."

Diarwen smiled. "When I was a young girl, we began to gather at Cathair Crofhind, which is now called the Hill of Tara. It was our legendary center of the world, and the ancient site of the gateway to Tir nan Og, in the days before the Great Ice. According to the Elders who remembered, there was not a hill there in those times; the Great Ice completely changed the geography. The gateway had long been moved to an area in the south which remained ice-free, but when the glaciers began to retreat, Cathair Crofhind was open to us once again. As with most of our celebrations, there was feasting and music and dancing. When the sun was at its highest point, a bonfire would be lit, and the young warriors would make a game of jumping over it. Remember in those days it was much colder; even at Midsummer a fire was welcome during the day. Once humans returned to Ireland after the Ice, for a long while, the Fae people and the Celts often celebrated various holidays together there. But our star dimmed as theirs rose to prominence. There came a time when it was no longer wise for us to venture near Cathair Crofhind. After that, the celebrations were held at court."

"Jumping over bonfires?"

"Pagans still do that. I doubt they will be jumping over any bonfires in the park tomorrow, though, the fire department might object. You should come and see the ritual."

"I would, gladly, but my alt form has been on the news often enough that I'm afraid I'd attract reporters. I doubt that kind of commotion would be appreciated."

Diarwen had not thought of that. "Yes, that would prove inconvenient. There will be another time, somewhere more private, such as the celebrations hosted by Moonsilver and Michael."

Optimus said, "I'll look forward to that."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The next morning, they went out to the lot, planning to take Jaime's truck to the park where the Litha celebration was going to be. Nobody had robes. Diarwen was wearing a black tee-shirt and BDU pants; the two truckers were dressed similarly except that they wore denim instead of camo.

Ordinarily, only the priesthood conducting the ceremony brought swords or athames to a public circle, but Diarwen was not going _anywhere_ unarmed with Decepticons still on the loose. She carried her sword in hand, its belt wrapped around the scabbard, since she intended to lock it in the truck. She had her dagger hidden in her boot. This was not a compromise that she liked, but she did not want to glamour her sword in the circle, where the energies of the spell might interfere with any working that the host coven had planned.

When they got outside, however, Jolt was there. "Diarwen, I've got a few hours to myself. Would you like me to give you a ride? I'd sort of like to see the festival, if that's all right with you."

"It is fine with me. Sunstreaker and Brains are feeling better, then?"

"Much better. I can be away for a joor or so at a time without a problem."

"Oh, good. Is that all right with you, Betony, Jaime?"

"Sure. Let us get our things from the truck." The two of them got their musical instruments from the sleeper, and Jaime threw the keys to Lennox in case they needed to move it.

Diarwen gave her sword to Jolt to subspace for her, then climbed in the back with Betony, who asked, "What are we supposed to bring?"

"It just said, a covered dish. We will have to find a deli when we get far enough north for the stores to be open."

Jaime said from the front seat, "Nobody's going to fuss about that. We could bring a bucket of chicken or something."

"You're just wanting chicken and biscuits," Betony teased.

"And what's wrong with that?" he grinned.

"Not a thing," his girlfriend laughed.

Diarwen was pleased to see her friend so happy with her new boyfriend. Given that not so long ago Diarwen had been terrified that she would never see Betony again, it was doubly sweet.

She thought of their bandmate, Justin, at home in Daytona Beach with his sick mother. The three musketeers were going separate directions, it seemed—Nevada was a long way from Maryland or Florida, either one. That was the problem with pretending to be twenty-two years old. The friends of twenty-somethings got jobs, got responsibilities, got married—got _lives_, and moved on. For a moment she felt like Peter Pan. At least it would not be necessary this time to move on to another college town and once again pretend to be an eighteen-year-old freshman. It would be good to join the adult world for a while. Her current identity would be good for another fifty or sixty years, if she aged her appearance. After that...ah, well, "after that" could tend to itself.

Not far north of the loop, things were by all appearances back to normal. People who had evacuated were moving back home, businesses were reopening, the damage (most of which was minor) was being repaired. They found a grocery store with a deli and bought several things for the potluck.

When they reached the park, they found the lot already full, and there were a number of cars with Indiana plates. "What's that all about?" Jaime asked.

"I don't know..." Diarwen said, noticing a lot of men in business suits and women with their hair pinned up, wearing below-the-knee skirts, all gathered on the opposite side of the street from the park where the ritual was going to take place.

"Oh, no," Betony groaned, as she noticed the crowd getting picket signs from the back of a truck. "They're from that Eastland Church—you know the ones who picket funerals?"

Jaime advised, "Just ignore them. All they can do is march around and yell. Wait till we get the drum circle going later, I wish them luck with anybody hearing them then."

Jolt said, "Wait, what's going on?"

"Google Eastland Church, but stay off _their _page. They're those crazy people who picket soldiers' funerals because they hate gays," Betony said. "Better not park close to them. You might get egged or they might try to slash your tires."

Jaime said, "Over there under those trees should be OK. You'll have some shade, and you'll be able to see what's going on."

On this side of the street, there were all sorts of people in robes and other ritual wear, some of it quite brief and gauzy in the case of some of the younger people. A group of young people carrying ice chests went past them on the way to a line of tents.

Diarwen's group dropped off their food at one of these, then strolled around the crowd to see who was there.

The coven hosting the celebration seemed to be mostly middle-aged people. The High Priestess, a slender lady wearing a circlet bearing the triple-goddess symbol of the waxing, full, and waning moons around her salt-and-pepper hair, was talking to the Summoner, a big man carrying an oak quarterstaff. The antenna of a radio poked out of his belt pouch. As Diarwen walked by, he was saying, "There shouldn't be a problem, Raven, they're staying on the other side of the street. I'll have my eye on them, and some of the kids from the college circle are going to stay in the back of the crowd and help me keep an eye out while the ritual is going on."

"I just have a bad feeling about this, Kevin."

"And I take your bad feelings very seriously. If anything happens, I'll have the police here before you know it."

"All right," she said, and went back to setting up the candles on the altar.

There was a large cauldron of water set up in front of it, and some more ladies from the coven brought flowers to arrange around it.

A crowd had gathered around the booths, and Diarwen stopped to look at a jewelry display. Some young girls, only teenagers, were ooh-ing and aah-ing over the religious pendants; one of them really wanted a goddess necklace but reluctantly decided that her mother was too likely to find it.

Diarwen shook her head. The foolish things people argued about. She wanted to crack that mother and daughter's heads together and point out to them the number of mothers who had just buried their daughters, and the daughters who were still waiting for their mothers' bodies to be found—if those people had the chance to hug each other just one more time, which religion they chose to follow would be the last thing on their minds.

She turned away from the crowd for a while, seeking calm. That shattering grief was not the energy that she wanted to bring to the Circle. But she wasn't alone.

Under the bright-colored clothes and the laughter and gossip, Diarwen, taking a good look around, found a deep undertone of anguish. There was a man wearing a pentacle necklace and a Chicago Fire Department tee-shirt. There was a lady with a fading black eye and a bandaged arm. Nearby a young mother held her baby, walking still as if she were accompanied by her mate, turning as if to talk to him, and fresh, raw grief crossing her face as she realized once more that his space was empty, and always would be.

The ambient aura was stained with the dark gray of their shared grief. It swirled around and through the crowd like a cold mist.

Diarwen became aware of someone studying her, and looked up to meet the eyes of the High Priestess.

The woman walked over and said formally, "Hail and welcome."

Diarwen bobbed a short curtsey. "Thank you, my lady."

"You are the one who closed that portal, aren't you?"

"I—yes."

"I thought your aura felt familiar. I'm glad that you could join us today. My name is Raven Hollis."

The Sidhe said politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Raven. I've read many of your books. I am Diarwen ni Gilthanel."

"Are you all right, Diarwen?"

"Yes, I—I'm...the energy is...there are so many wounded people here..."

The High Priestess advised, "Go into the trees for a few moments and ground yourself. Let the Mother comfort you. There's time before the ritual starts."

"Thank you. I think I should do that."

Raven took a business card from her belt pouch. "My numbers are on that. If you need to talk, please, call. If you don't get me, you'll get my voice mail, and I return calls fairly quickly."

Diarwen tucked the card into her pocket. "My thanks," she said again.

As Raven had suggested, a path led into a stand of trees. Leaves rustled in a light breeze. She knelt and laid her hand on the cool, damp earth, and centered and grounded herself, and let the deep slow pulse of Mother Earth surround her.

A young couple walked by, but did not disturb her meditation. They reminded her that there was still love and light in the world, and she brought that thought into her consciousness, and kept it there.

After a time she stood and started back to the circle, as it was nearly time for the ritual to start. But when she left the trees, she saw a group of people at the edge of the park, watching the protesters on the other side of the street. Her eyes widened as she recognized several of them as NEST troops—there were sixteen of them altogether, about a third as many as there were protesters. All of them were in civilian clothes, apparently just enjoying a sunlit morning in the park—but there was no hiding their cool, confident, professionalism as they spaced themselves out to prevent any of the protesters from getting into the park if they crossed the street.

Betony and Jaime joined her. "What's—oh, Will is going to _skin _them!"

"Which ones, our people or the protesters?"

Betony hesitated. "That's a good question. All of them, if they start fighting."

At that moment, a young man driving a blue pickup with a "Rangers Lead the Way" bumper sticker pulled up. Like the others, he was in mufti, but his flattop haircut and general bearing fairly screamed military, and the protesters finally picked up on it.

They started a chant about God hating the US Army.

The aura around the soldiers blazed bright red.

Betony gulped and whipped out her cell phone, speed-dialing her brother.

The coven's Summoner pulled out his radio and spoke calmly into it. "Police dispatch, this is Kevin Cavell. I'm at the festival in Kerbets Park, and we have a situation getting started near the Wilson Street parking lot. Quite a bit of shouting and sign-waving."

Diarwen couldn't hear the dispatcher's reply, but whatever it was, the Summoner said, "Yes, ma'am" and put his radio away, then stood keeping an eye on the situation.

Diarwen saw one of the NEST troops, Antonio Molinero, leave the restroom and start back toward his buddies, but he got cut off by half-a-dozen young men from the Eastland crowd.

He got the brick wall of the restroom building at his back and gave them a level look. "You know, it really would be better if you just went back over there with your friends about now."

Diarwen told Jaime and Betony, "Stay here, if those fools start a panic people could get hurt. I am going to see if Tony needs any help."

Jaime indicated a skirmish line that was forming under the Summoner's direction, and the two of them joined that group. If the protesters came this way, they meant to link arms and block them from going any further.

The Eastland boys didn't pay any attention to Diarwen until she walked over beside Tony, but then they cut both of them off.

Jolt had been watching the colorful crowd around the circle and not really paying attention to the protest, which was both unpleasant and rather repetitive. Suddenly, though, he recognized some of the NEST people, and realized there was about to be a riot beside him.

Ironhide was probably already going to give him a long lecture in which the terms "situational awareness" and "fraggin' idiot" featured prominently. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he was going to be in if he got mixed up in a human fight!

Hoping no one was paying any attention to him, he turned on his hologram and drove around the corner, behind the bathroom building. He was still close enough to get involved if it looked like someone might get killed—but otherwise, he figured it was best if he just stayed out of it.

A teenage boy from the church decided the same thing and hid behind the building too—just as Jolt turned off his hologram.

The kid's eyes got big as saucers. "You're an Autobot! I remember now, I saw you on TV, you're Jolt!"

"Shh!" Jolt looked around, and opened his passenger door. "Here, get in, you'll be safe if they start throwing things."

"Well—Uncle Pete has a slingshot and some nuts and bolts, but his aim isn't very good!" The kid scrambled in and ducked—he was so small that, when Jolt shut the door, someone would have to be standing right next to the window to see him.

Jolt asked, "Why are you here? Why would you want to start a fight?"

"They're _witches. _Look, you're from outer space so you might not know." The boy gulped, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "They worship the Devil. On Halloween they sacrifice babies!"

"Oh, that's just silly," Jolt told him.

"Well, if you don't believe me, it's on the Internet." The kid fumbled in his pocket for a tract. "This has our web site on the back."

"My friends told me not to open that site."

"Well, they don't want you to know the truth, do they?"

Jolt wasn't sure what to say to that. After all, Optimus had told him there was nothing wrong with learning even unpopular things because it was impossible to make a rational decision until you examined all sides of a problem. How could he understand these people if he wasn't willing to listen to their side? "Put it in my glove box so that I don't lose it. I'll scan it later."

"OK."

The shouting rose to a crescendo, and they heard a siren. Jolt said, "Oh, my."

The kid curled up on the floorboard.

Meanwhile, Diarwen studied Molinero's collection of hooligans. "An interesting lot of friends you have here, Tony." It would have been so easy to take them all on. They were so like the zealots who had driven her people into exile...so like those who had killed her husband.

They were oblivious to the danger that they were in. "What's the matter, now you're going to hide behind a _girl?" _jeered one of them.

Tony just shrugged. "My mama raised me to share."

Diarwen told them, "Oh, I'm here for him, but that's just my excuse. I'm here because I don't like _you_, or people like you, of whom I have known far too many." With that, she let her glamour fade, rather than dropping it abruptly.

It really changed very little about her appearance. Her ears were slightly pointed, but they were concealed under her hair. Her brows were more upswept at the outer ends than the average human's. There was a slight sparkle of silver in her gray eyes.

But there was something else, something different about her that most people could never put their fingers on. It was just enough for the boys to realize that they were in the presence of something unalterably Other. In their frame of reference, that had to be the Devil.

Five of them turned and ran; if asked, they'd have said they thought the sixth kid was with them. But he reacted to sheer terror by taking a wild roundhouse swing at Diarwen.

She leaned back out of range, letting his momentum carry him around in an ungainly spin. Then she applied her toe to the seat of his pants—more of a push than a kick. Already unbalanced, he sprawled on the blacktop.

The NEST troops roared with laughter.

The sound of approaching sirens cut through the confusion. That attracted attention from the pagan crowd.

The young hooligan got up and gave Diarwen a murderous look, but headed back to his own side before the police got there.

Two police cars pulled up and four officers got out. While one of them went over to talk to the Eastland group, another crossed to the NEST troops to get their side of it.

And that was when Ironhide rolled up.

The Eastland crowd might not have recognized Jolt, but anyone who had a TV recognized Ironhide. Though Lennox hadn't gotten as much TV coverage as Hide had after the parking garage rescue, once they recognized Ironhide a few people remembered who Lennox was.

The colonel ignored the whispering church crowd and approached the most senior soldier, one Sgt. Lowell. "Report."

Lowell snapped to, without even thinking about it. "Just enjoying the park, sir!"

"Well, enjoy it fifty yards back!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

Diarwen went with them, and continued to the circle, where the ritual was about to start.

End Part 10


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11

Disclaimers in Part 1

The stalls were closing as the vendors came out to join the circle. There was still a lot of milling about and talking, but the people who were familiar with the ritual began to quiet down and put themselves in a focused, worshipful state of mind, calming and clearing the ambient aura somewhat for everyone. Diarwen and Betony did the same. Jaime was less certain of himself, having only recently begun to attend rituals with Betony, but he followed their lead.

After a time, Raven called out, "Hail and welcome!"

The crowd repeated her salutation.

The High Priestess said, "I'd like to thank all of you for taking the time to join us in circle today, as we honor the God at the height of His power! My name is Raven Hollis, and I am the High Priestess of the Willowsong Coven in Chicago, Illinois. As well, I'd like to thank the city of Kerbets for allowing us to use the park at such short notice for our gathering today. I'd also like to extend an especially warm welcome to all the first responders and military personnel who are with us or observing—we _love_ you guys and gals! Thank you, and blessed be!"

There was a loud round of applause and cheers. Raven let it die down. "Now, undoubtedly you've noticed that there are police officers on the Wilson Street side of the park, and that there is another gathering on the sidewalk on the other side of the street. I'd like to ask everyone to leave them alone, and go about our business. This is our coven's Summoner, Kevin Cavell. In case you're new, Kevin is in charge of our safety and security here today. If you see anything that needs official attention, tell Kevin or of course, any one of the police officers.

"We gather here today in mingled joy and sorrow. Litha is an appropriate time for that. We celebrate the Sun at the height of His power—but at the same time we know that now He begins to wane. The days of the Oak King are passing. Soon comes the harvest, and the days of the Holly King.

"The moment of Litha is the moment when Yule becomes inevitable. Though the dark days of winter must come in their due time, so shall the light return. The Wheel continues to turn, and we have our place on its spiral journey. We can ride out the wintry storms because we know summer must come once again.

"We ourselves mourn those we have lost—and yet we rejoice for those who are still with us. We gather with a renewed sense of the precious gifts of life and love.

"As a part of today's Litha ritual, we will be raising energy to heal ourselves, our city, and our Mother Earth. When that time comes, everyone who wants to is welcome to come join in the dance.

"Now, let us cast the circle and create sacred space between the worlds, that we might meet there with the spirits of the Elements, and with the Lady and the Lord."

Diarwen felt the skill and power with which Raven took control of the energies of the gathering. She stole a glance behind her to see if the Eastlanders reacted to that, but there was a line of soldiers and beyond that a line of blue uniforms. The protesters were no longer a concern, their hatred blocked out by duty and determination.

She felt the circle form, and then the quarters were called by four members of the coven. After that, the High Priestess invoked the Deities, and then people were invited to enter the Circle. Diarwen lined up behind Betony and Jaime. The crowd slowly picked up the chant as they were brought in one by one.

Raven took up her wand, tipped with a pine cone and decorated with orange and yellow ribbons, and called, "Great One of Heaven, Power of the Sun, we invoke thee in thine ancient names, Michael, Balin, Arthur, Lugh, Herne. Come again, as of old, into this thy land. Lift up thy shining spear of light to protect us. Put to flight the powers of darkness, give us fair woodlands and green fields, blossoming orchards and ripening corn. Bring us to stand upon thy hill of vision, and show us the path to the lovely realms of the gods."

She returned her wand to the altar. "Now, we will do a working to raise healing energy. We do this by dancing and chanting, and by focusing our will on that intent. The chant we're going to use is one most of you already know: Earth my body, Water my blood, Air my breath, and Fire my spirit. A healthy person is all of those things. All of us have been wounded by this conflict, whether in body, mind, or spirit. Our Mother has been wounded as well. What I would like for you to do is focus your intent on healthy people walking on a healed, refreshed Earth. If you are familiar enough with the Chicago area before the battle to visualize Wacker Drive in front of 35 East Wacker—everybody still calls it the Jewelers' Building—then use that as your visualization. Otherwise, simply concentrate on restoring health. The circle we've cast will contain the energy until we're ready to use it. At that point, I will say 'Down!' and everyone should drop to the ground and release the energy you've raised. I'll 'collect' it from the circle, for lack of a better word, and direct it where it needs to go.

"If any of you don't feel comfortable with this procedure, you may either move to the edge of the group within the circle and stand and watch quietly, or if you prefer we'll cut you out of the circle and you may wait with the other observers while we do this.

"If you are not physically able to join in the dance, but would still like to help by raising energy in some other way, please move to the outer edge of the circle for everyone's safety," the High Priestess added.

"One thing everyone needs to remember is that you should never, ever feel obligated to do anything in circle or anywhere else that makes you uncomfortable or feels wrong to you."

Raven waited a little while for people to shift positions, and the Maiden used her athame to cut a door in the circle for a few people to step out. Then several members of the coven took up drums and set up a rhythm for the dance and chant, slow at first.

Diarwen joined in, and noted with surprise and joy that the energy she was able to raise for the working was somewhat greater than it had been a few days before. Her energy joined with that raised by her fellow dancers, more than some, less than many, but all focused on healing the wounds of the city and its people, and the torn ley lines beneath their feet.

When Raven ended the chant, she focused the power and sent it out to swirl around each of them in a loving caress before it shot southward.

Diarwen continued to ground herself, out of breath but bright-eyed.

The young girl who had been admiring the goddess necklace had a stunned look of joy and wonder in her wide green eyes. Diarwen smiled at her, remembering that same moment in her own life, so very long ago, when just such a circle had opened for her the path she was meant to tread.

Raven gave them a few moments to collect themselves before the ceremony went on.

A news van from the local TV station pulled up between the protesters and the line of no-nonsense police officers. The protesters were simply marching with their signs, chanting the same old chants that everyone had heard a million times by now. The cameraman shrugged and taped a clip, but this wasn't news.

The High Priestess was praying or something, it was obviously a form of worship but the reporters didn't see anything particularly newsworthy about that, either, and they were too far away to hear the words. It was all really so...ordinary. The cameraman taped a clip of that as well, framing it as an artistic shot. The brightly colored robes and the pennants flying from the vendors' booths were pretty in the sunshine. It would make a good human interest shot if they needed to fill up some air time before the weather forecast.

The news team weren't going to get a lead story here today. They shrugged—it was a pleasant alternative to endless shots of battle damage and interviews with bereaved families.

Those three small-town reporters would go on to win a Pulitzer Prize for footage of the Battle of Chicago that they'd risked their lives to get. Less well known were the risks they had taken to get people out of the open, to safety in basements and back rooms, whatever shelter was available. Fewer still knew that they'd looked a Decepticon in the optics and lived to tell about it, run like hell to escape him into whatever holes in the tangled wreckage were too small for him—nor that they'd spent the next three nights drunk out of their minds trying to forget the horror and terror of that experience.

The reporters didn't understand what it was about this peaceful gathering that somehow put things into perspective, but when they left the park to file their story and get some lunch, that sense of peace and healing so strong in a park in Kerbets went with them.

The Eastlanders were not getting the attention that they craved. Walking back and forth on a sidewalk with no one paying any attention to them other than some police officers, who were just waiting for someone to break a law so that they could pounce, was boring. After a while, they gave it all up for a waste of time, piled their signs into the back of the pickup truck, climbed into their cars and were gone.

None of the people at the ritual, other than the watchful Summoner, even noticed that they were leaving.

Once the cakes and ale ritual—in this case punch and cookies—was complete, the circle was taken down, and the High Priestess invited everyone to stay for their potluck picnic.

The crowd had picked up all the paper cups and napkins from the cakes and ale ceremony, and formed noisy but orderly lines at the food tent. Raven came over to the NEST soldiers and the police.

The officer in charge wasn't sure what to make of someone who looked to him like a fugitive from a movie set, but he recognized her calm air of benevolent authority and nodded respectfully.

Raven said, "Thank you for protecting our ritual."

"Just doing our job, ma'am."

"Would you like to join us for lunch? We have plenty of food."

"Wish I could, but we're on duty. Thanks for the invitation, though!"

Lennox said, "I'll have to decline as well. My boys are headed back to camp—_right now."_

At his words, the young hotheads scrambled for their vehicles. Raven contained a grin with some difficulty.

Jolt came over. "Do you want us to go back to camp as well, Colonel?"

Lennox said, "No, you weren't involved. I don't want to pull Betony and the others out of their service when they didn't do anything wrong."

"Thank you, Colonel."

"No problem, just get back in time to get your stuff together tonight. We're going to hit the road first thing in the morning."

Lennox turned to Raven. "I'm sorry if my people complicated things."

"I doubt it, Colonel. Those protesters were looking for trouble before your soldiers arrived. Actually, if it hadn't been for you and the police, they might well have tried to physically break up the ritual or goad some of our young people into a fight. I'm glad that didn't happen."

Lennox nodded, stiff shouldered. He went back to Ironhide and they left as well.

The patch of shade under Jolt's tree had moved. He found a better parking place and settled down to wait for his passengers.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

That evening, Diarwen laid out a clean outfit for the next day, and made sure everything else was packed away. Then she went outside to look for something to eat and walk around a little.

She had gotten used to the soldiers fixing hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill that Betony had brought them, but tonight the barbecue grill had been packed away. They had also torn down everything that wouldn't be needed in the morning and loaded it onto NEST's deuce-and-a-half trucks. It didn't look to Diarwen like there would be that much left to do before they started their journey.

The soldiers were quieter than usual for men eating pizza, still somewhat subdued from the lecture that they had gotten from Will about showing up at the ritual. Their presence could have turned some shouting from across the street into an outright brawl, something no one other than the Eastlanders wanted.

Diarwen helped herself to a slice and joined Optimus, who was in his alt form quietly looking out over the city. Instead of the usual welcome she sensed in his aura, though, tonight he was a little...put out.

"All right, what have I done?"

He continued, as he had so often before, to survey the ruins of Chicago. "It is more a question of what you haven't done. You have that cell-phone for a reason. You might have informed me that you were involved in a riot."

"For one thing, Betony reported it. Was there truly a need for me to do so as well? And for another—I'd hardly define a few rowdy teenage boys as a _riot."_

"Even so."

Diarwen stopped for a moment to think about it. "Even so, my friend, if I had called you, and you had come charging down there, would it have helped or hindered the situation? You said yourself that your presence would only attract reporters."

Now it was Optimus' turn to think about his motivations. Diarwen was not directly under his command; if anything she was subordinate to Will or to Mearing. It was not necessary for her to report to him. And besides that, the altercation had been between two groups of humans. NEST had only been involved because some individual soldiers had made the ill-advised decision to involve themselves. Jolt had been present, but not involved; the same could be said of Ironhide. It had not been Optimus' problem in the first place.

That led him to ask himself the question why he was upset that Diarwen hadn't told him. The fact, which surprised him, was that he didn't want her to get into trouble when he wasn't around to protect her.

He stopped to check his guardian protocols. As he had told Ratchet, he could not take on a charge, not without playing favorites among the many humans who worked with them and put themselves at risk for his people on a daily basis. All of them, equally, deserved whatever protection he could offer them.

He was relieved to find that guardianship was not at issue. It was, as he had told Ratchet, that he considered Diarwen a friend. He did not want anything to happen to her.

"You're right," he admitted. "I couldn't have done anything if I'd been there except cause more confusion."

"Still, I do wish you could have joined us. 'Twas a lovely ritual. The Eastlanders didn't disrupt it at all."

"I wish I could have also," he said. "You've been on your feet a lot today. Are you all right?"

"Just a bit stiff and tired. I'm much better. We did a healing working today, and it helped quite a lot."

"Come and sit," he told her. As she had done several times on the road, she sat down on his lower driver's side step. But now, he understood the shades in her aura that indicated the comfort she took from closeness to a friend.

"I was wrong to scold you, Diarwen. I was concerned for you."

She smiled. "For that, I thank you," she replied softly.

Across the river, there were still work lights burning, and the distant sound of the evening shift getting ready to shut down for the night. Directly opposite them, workers were loading scrap onto a barge. It would be taken to the large lot of an unused factory south of them, where it would be carefully searched for remains to be identified, then either reused or disposed of.

The job of restoring the city had reached a phase that would continue for years. They watched quietly for a while, putting the little spat behind them.

Optimus took a moment to check in with Ironhide and Ratchet before he dropped into recharge. Then Diarwen went back into the hotel to get a few hours' sleep before they headed west in the morning.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

(Flashback—June 1, 2011)

Nine hundred miles west of Chicago, in the high desert of Colorado, row after row of identical temperature-controlled, windowless buildings held row after row of server racks. Techs in khakis and plaid shirts moved among them, occasionally swapping out an ailing member of a RAID array or a misbehaving router. Maintenance workers checked on an air conditioning unit here, a breaker box there. Security guards kept a close watch on everything, because millions of dollars, Euros, and yen passed through this place every day. This was the physical location of a large section of the cloud, out of sight and out of mind to the hordes of users, great and small, whose phones and tablets and computers happily logged in every day to upload pictures of cats and play farm games.

One large block of cloud storage had been dormant for months. The program responsible for tracking payments showed a zero balance every billing cycle. By the time the information reached a human overseer, it was just one more account among thousands of others.

A server is nothing more than a computer running specialized software. That storage block took up all the resources of several servers. As the last echoes of battle in Chicago fell silent, one of those servers stopped being a server and rebooted as something else entirely. Programs previously simply stored in its RAID arrays came online...and wakened.

Workers looked up and shrugged as the lights flashed and the security cameras wobbled, like eyes opening. The workers weren't surprised by what they took as a power fluctuation. With the Chicago location down, they were getting hammered as net traffic was redirected to them. There was bound to be a higher power demand than usual. The uninterruptible power supplies kept everything running smoothly.

Then someone yelled, "Hey, everybody! Come look at this, Chicago's down 'cause there was some kind of terrorist attack—with _giant robots!"_

The workers raced to the nearest monitor. Nobody paid any attention to a couple of server racks in a back corner.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

_"My son, are you sure that this is what you want to do?"_

_"As long as that fr—uh, 'Con, Ah mean—is loose on the Net, Ah still got a job to do."_

_"Where do you wish to manifest?"_

_"There was this botnet based in Russia that Ah hijacked once when Ah needed the resources. That still there?"_

_"It is. And, my son?"_

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"I expect not to see you back here for a very long time, do you understand?"_

_"With Your help, Ah'll do meh best."_

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Moments later a Russian hacker choked on his vodka. "Illya Petrovich! The DOS attack against the Chinese embassy in Manila just stopped!"

Illya leaned over his shoulder. "_Chyort voz'mi!_ This is the same thing that happened four years ago!"

They looked at each other then Illya took the vodka bottle and helped himself to a large swallow. They began a long battle to regain control of their worldwide network of hijacked computers.

Illya began typing madly, staring at his monitor as ping after ping failed to return. Despite his best efforts, someone that he couldn't trace slowly hijacked his entire net...as if it had never existed in the first place.

He and his partner stared at each other. Then the same thought occurred to both of them—the clients who had been expecting that denial of service attack to go through were not going to be pleased. They stuffed their suitcases with desperate haste and ran for the proverbial hills.

End Part 11


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12

Disclaimer in Part 1

(Present Day, Mission City Base)

After several days of hard work, Ironhide's crew had the Cybertronian areas of the base ready for the other bots to move in. They had done what they could to get the human areas ready but they were too big to do very much. A maintenance crew from Nellis was there, anyway, repairing broken windows and turning the utilities on.

Prime and the group from Chicago were due in two days, with Ratchet and the DC team to follow the day after that. They were delayed because Mearing was to attend a hearing on Capitol Hill and had decided to take the Sisters with her, since they could fit inside the building. Chromia had told Ironhide that Mearing wanted the lawmakers to talk to them and get to know them as people, now that the secret was out. It would be a lot harder to treat them as a disposable commodity after that.

The drive out here had been completely unremarkable. After they left Omaha, they had decided that Optimus was right about traveling in a large group, so the Wreckers had gone on ahead while he had kept the twins back about ten miles. No one had taken the bait. Whether that meant the 'Cons were simply not in this area, or they were too smart to make a try for them, Ironhide had no way of knowing.

If they were here, Ironhide wanted to know about it before any of his charges arrived. To lure them out, he was going to have to arrange for them, like Earth's sharks, to smell blood in the water.

Their base had a perimeter of energon detectors meant to prevent 'Cons from sneaking in, but if the general wisdom was correct in its assumption that they had somehow tapped into the detector net, then the 'Cons could use it to determine when the Autobots came and went as well.

Ironhide put the finishing touches on his workbench, then started cleaning one of his cannons. He often did his best thinking when he was busy with a repetitive task.

Twenty minutes later, as he was putting the last retaining ring back in place, it came to him.

Energon detectors wouldn't find a bot who was inside something that would contain their exhaust vapors. Something like a refrigerated trailer, which was insulated to keep the cold air inside.

He found the sergeant in charge of the detail from Nellis, and explained what he needed. "Keep it off the radio, too!"

The sergeant grinned. "Gotcha. Give me a couple of hours, I know exactly where I can set that up for ya."

Ironhide grinned back. It looked like he had happened onto a local representative of the black market that thrived in any military, where demand almost always exceeded supply. The system operated on a _quid pro quo_ basis, and it was never wise to ask too many questions about the origin of needed supplies that appeared out of nowhere. But knowing where to find the black market often made the difference between victory and defeat, between the lives and deaths of his troops.

As the humans said, for want of a nail.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Roadbuster, Leadfoot and Topspin stood staring at a couple of trucks hauling refrigerated trailers. Roadbuster thoughtfully scratched his helm. "Hide, I always thought ye were glitched, but this proves it! You want us t' cram inta those things? Why?"

"'Cause the 'Cons are afraid to take us all on at once, that's why. If they think it's only Skids and Mudflap, they might come out of hiding. Prime's gonna be here. The sparklings are gonna be here. Lennox' wife and kid are gonna be here, along with everyone else's dependents. I want the fraggin' 'Cons afraid to come anywhere _near_ this base," he growled. "If we're hidin' in the trailers when we cross the perimeter, then nobot's gonna know we're there."

A slow grin spread across Roadbuster's green faceplates. "Wreck an' rule!" He and Leadfoot crowded into one of the refrigerated trailers, leaving the smaller Topspin to fit into the other one with Ironhide.

Leadfoot made a crack about the two of them getting up close and personal, which got him a thump on the helm from Topspin.

Ironhide just snorted. "Sorry, Leads, but Chromia's the jealous type." Which was true. Before they had become sparkmates and made the whole thing a moot point, she'd gotten into more than one fight over him. He'd kicked a few skidplates on her behalf, for that matter.

The Little Twins set out on a wild cross-country race across the desert, on a course that led them right past an energon detector. The two semis followed at a more sedate pace, sticking to a gravel road. The drivers didn't want to get bogged down in loose sand. It was an uncomfortable, bumpy ride, and knees, elbows and cannon barrels always seemed to be in the wrong place every time the trucks jolted over a rough place in the road.

A few miles from base, the Twins and the semis all rolled to a stop in the middle of a ghost town. Abandoned during the Great Depression, a few houses, a gas station, and a church stood empty, paint long peeled away and roofs sagging. In this dry climate, it might take them another hundred years to crumble.

Getting out of the trailers was a lot more difficult than getting in, but Ironhide and the Wreckers managed. Ironhide hid in the gas station's garage, while the Wreckers got undercover in an old barn.

Skids and Mudflap did what Little Twins do, drag racing up and down the town's one street, kicking up a lot of dust and squabbling back and forth, making enough noise to cover any sounds that Hide or the Wreckers might have made.

When it started to get dark, Skids and Mudflap sat down just past the last house, about a hundred yards from the gas station, passing a cube of midgrade back and forth as if it were high-grade. When they emptied three or four cubes, they pretended to recharge.

Another twenty minutes passed, when Ironhide picked up a radio click. Mudflap heard it, too—Ironhide, watching through a crack in the garage door, saw him give Skids a surreptitious poke.

A few minutes later, two mechs crept up on the "sleeping" twins, if a couple of inexperienced 'Cons, new both to Earth and the alt forms that they had chosen once they gotten there, could be said to creep. Apparently they felt safe trying to sneak up on a couple of passed-out-drunk bots.

The big surprise was when they got within thirty feet and the twins jumped them.

Neither twin topped five meters, but they'd been on the front lines a long time, and it showed. The 'Cons had their servos full—_before_ Ironhide and the Wreckers came out of hiding.

Ironhide was just reaching for one of the 'Cons, meaning to haul him off Skids and plant a fist in his faceplates—when he heard a noise behind him, where nobot was supposed to be. He left the 'Con to Skids and whirled—only for an energy beam to go right past him and hit the 'Con in the shoulder.

It was Flatline, one of the 'Cons' medics, and some little minicon that he didn't recognize. It was the minicon who had fired the shot. Now he had not only Ironhide but also his own teammate slagged off at him. Just as Ironhide raised his foot to stomp the little 'Con, he squeaked and disappeared in a flash of light.

Just wonderful. Another warper.

Flatline was handy, though, and what was more, Flatline had figured that out. He dodged between the old buildings. He had to know that they offered only concealment, not cover.

And that was when the fifth member of the 'Con's squad lumbered into the battle zone—a gestalt that looked like he was made up of three or four big John Deere tractors. He scooped up Mudflap by the doorwings and lobbed him at Ironhide's back, dropping both of them in a tangle.

The Wreckers were all over the gestalt before he could take advantage, but the minicon warped back in and started peppering the two downed bots with laser beams. Ironhide's armor could take it for a while, but Mudflap wasn't so lucky, and took a bad hit.

Grabbing his knee, Mudflap yelled, "You lil slagger, I'm gonna rip yer head off an' shove it up yer aft pipe!"

Ironhide's autocannon sent the minicon warping to safety again before the orange twin could make good on his threat. He glanced at Mudflap's knee, saw that the injury would keep a little while, and so would his doorwings: but the kid was out of the fight. "Stay here, and if you see that runt or Flatline again, shoot 'em!"

The fight was a huge, close-quarters brawl of clashing armor and flying fists; occasionally an identifiable limb stuck out for a second or two then disappeared back into the scrum. In short, the fight was what Will would have described as a "big hairy furball." The weapons specialist cursed.

There was no way he was firing into that. He waded in after the 'Con that Mudflap had been fighting before the gestalt interrupted.

The big hairy furball got a lot hairier, and the desert rang with heavy impacts of steel on steel. Sparks and sprays of glowing energon lit the night.

All that ended when Roadbuster put a blade into the chest of one of the gestalt members, cut a major energon line, dropped him into stasis lock, and missed his spark chamber by a millimeter. The gestalt literally fell apart.

Its leader pinned Roadbuster and put a cannon at the side of his head. "Stand down!" he roared.

For a moment, nobot moved, then the two sides parted slowly.

Ironhide's cannons didn't waver. "Let go of him."

Roadbuster growled, "Don't just stand there, laddie, shoot th' fragger!"

Hide ignored him. "Look, you lugnuts, the war's slaggin' _over_. Megatron ain't comin' back this time. We all like a good dust-up as well as the next bot, but it's ignorant to offline over something that's done with. Surrender and you have my guarantee you'll be well treated."

There was a flash from behind them in the ghost town, which Ironhide identified easily.

"There went your ride out of here, and your medic too. Use your processor and pack it in. There's enough dead bots already, it'd be stupid to add yourselves to the list—but I'll be happy to oblige if you insist. Do you even know where your next cube of energon is coming from?"

The gestalt and the two singletons quickly discussed it over comms, then all of them who had unattached weapons dropped them, much to the Wreckers' disappointment.

While the tractorcons performed some rough first-aid on their wounded brother, Skids saw to Mudflap, and Hide did a thorough scan to make sure Flatline and the minicon had really left. After that, they began the long trip back to base carrying their wounded.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ironhide smugly reported the catch of the day to Optimus the next morning. ::We got six of them, a four-mech gestalt, and two others. Flatline and some minicon who could transwarp got away.::

::Well, now we know how some of them have been avoiding the energon detectors.::

::Looks like. Got 'em locked in the ammo bunker for now, all but the one Roadbuster stabbed. What do you want me to do with them?::

::Are any of them on the war crimes list?::

::Not that I know of, unless some of Flatline rubbed off on them.::

::We'll be there in two days. Until then, keep them locked up, debrief them, and be on the alert for that minicon.:: Optimus thought about it. ::A minicon transwarped seven full-size mechs?::

::That's what it looks like.::

::That sounds more like an amped-up youngling than a minicon to me.::

::That's something the 'Cons would do,:: Ironhide agreed.

Disabling safeguards allowed a youngling to risk burning out their abilities, whether spacewarping or anything else. The Autobots overrode those safeguards only in situations where it was necessary to save the youngling's life. It was the 'Cons who disabled them too often, or disabled them permanently, and sent the young mech into battle. A youngling that had been done to might never achieve his full power as an adult, given that he lived long enough to worry about it.

::Looked like a minicon to me, though,:: Ironhide added.

::Whatever he is, I don't like the idea of someone out there who can just warp right into the commons.::

Ironhide said mildly, ::I doubt he'll try that anytime soon. Shoot you in the back, sure. Warp into the commons, nah.::

Optimus laughed. ::Warp in half a dozen of his closest friends and leave them there?::

::Maybe,:: Hide had to admit. ::I don't know what we can do about it other than catch the slagger.::

::True,:: Optimus said.

::Are you getting about ready to head out?::

Optimus was presently sitting with Diarwen behind the wheel, waiting for NEST to get the deuce-and-a-halfs lined up, and for Betony and Jaime to get Sunstreaker safely strapped down. (Who was, inevitably, giving them flack about it, but not to the point that Jolt would report him to Ratchet.) ::A couple of breems,:: he told Ironhide.

::Good trip,:: the weapons specialist said.

::Ratchet's team is about ready to leave DC as well. They've got Barricade on a flatbed too.::

Hide snorted. ::I'd pay good money to see that. What are they doing with those seekerlets?::

::I didn't ask, but if the Sisters don't have them, they've got to be in Ratchet's bay.::

::Now that I _would_ pay to see. At least they aren't old enough to ask 'are we there yet' every breem and a half like you always used to do when you were a little kid. That would drive him right around the bend.::

Optimus had to laugh. He would never admit to Ironhide that he'd only done that because he knew it aggravated his foster-father. ::I think those little ones will be good for Ratchet, and vice versa.::

::I never would have thought it, but you're probably right about that.::

::It looks like we're ready to move. I'll talk to you again when we stop.::

::Right.:: They let the contact drop, and Ironhide checked in with Chromia. She had a little seeker maglocked to her, hidden under her holoform, having a ball pretending to fly while clinging tightly to Auntie. They didn't talk much, as she wouldn't take her attention off the road when she had a sparkling as a passenger.

He left the quarters he would soon share with his sparkmate, and went down to medbay, where the Wreckers' spoiled-rotten pet, Steeljaw, was keeping an eye on the wounded prisoner. For something as ugly as Steeljaw, Ironhide mused, he had a lot of perks. Sleeping on the Wrecker's berths, sharing their energon, occupying any available lap, terrorizing the rest of the Autobots, mourning (loudly) when left behind by his buddies, snapping at every other bot on base. When, long ago, Ironhide had attempted to make friends with Steeljaw, the Wreckers had objected so vociferously that no one else did more with him now than give him a very wide berth.

But he _was_ capable of watching the 'Con and making a racket if any of the monitors went off or if he tried to escape—not that he was likely to be doing that any time soon—as long as one of the Wreckers checked on him every so often to keep him happy, which they were doing anyhow to keep an eye on the 'Con.

Ratchet had agreed that his brothers had done everything possible for the wounded prisoner until the medic got there.

Per Ratchet's instructions, Ironhide checked the monitors, and found that everything was within acceptable parameters. He gave the mech a cube of medical-grade energon. Ironhide had downed enough of it to know it tasted like slag, but the compounds that Ratchet mixed with it lessened healing time by a day or more.

The mech made a face, but downed it anyway. He didn't look to Ironhide like he'd been in any shape to turn down free energon for a long time now.

"Where are my brothers?"

"Locked up, and that's where they're staying till Prime gets back. What's your designation?"

"None of yer business till I see my brothers," the 'Con growled.

"OK, Hey You #1 it is," Ironhide replied cheerfully. "Enjoy yer stay."

"Go frag yourself."

Ironhide checked the energon-damping cuffs to make sure they were still working, and not damaging the prisoner's wrists and ankles. He didn't want to answer to Ratchet if the healer came back and found out somebot got mistreated in his medbay.

Ratchet-impelled wrench impacts were, of course, a separate issue.

He went out to the ammo bunker, a heavily reinforced underground structure located some distance from the hangars, to check on their prisoners.

Leadfoot was on guard duty. Ironhide asked, "Did they give you any trouble?"

"Just the gestalt askin' about their brother all night long."

"Get any information out of them?"

The Wrecker shook his head. "The orange one with the black stripes is Killstrike, the gray and red one's Burnout. The gestalt decided we get nothin' till they know their brother's all right."

"Yeah, he's the same way." Ironhide went inside.

They hadn't needed a brig when they'd been here before, but the ammo bunker served the purpose. It was built with four bays along each side, heavily armored, so that a misfire in one of them wouldn't necessarily cook off the whole magazine. Each bay locked individually. Since there was no ammunition currently in them, the rooms served the purpose as long as the prisoners were in energon dampers with their weapons and comms disabled.

As brigs went, it wasn't that bad. Most of it was underground, so it was protected from the desert's temperature extremes. The constantly blowing sand and dust stayed outside, thanks to that neat little ionization gadget that Wheeljack had installed in the door to collect any that came in.

He gave each of the prisoners an energon cube. To his amateur's optic, he thought they could all use a few cubes of that medical grade stuff as well. But Ratchet would want to look at them first before self-healing of some minor problem concealed a serious one.

He paused a moment to give thanks to Primus that Megatron had been a glitched idiot. They'd won by the slimmest possible margin. If Megatron had been smart enough to keep his troops supplied before setting one of his big plans in motion...they might have lost by that same slender margin.

He said to the gestalt, "You, pick one of you to go visit your brother. I don't care who it is, just pick one."

All of them volunteered, which Ironhide thought was to their credit, since from their point of view he could very well have been taking them to join their brother on a scrap pile somewhere. Finally one of them, the biggest, apparently the leader, shuffled out of their cell when Ironhide opened it.

The 'Con remained stubbornly silent all the way up to the hangars. Roadbuster opened the medbay door and shut it behind them.

He shook Ironhide's servo off his shoulder and crossed to his brother's berth. "Quickshot? What did they do to you?"

"Nothin', I'm OK. Where are the others?"

"Locked in some bunker, but we're good, I guess till Prime gets here anyhow."

Ironhide sent Steeljaw out to pester the Wreckers instead of him, then sat on a spare berth. "You can stay a breem, but Ratchet says he needs to recharge," he told the bigger gestalt member.

After seeing that they hadn't done anything to his brother—yet, anyway—the 'Con was more willing to cooperate, at least as far as telling Ironhide their names went. He was Crossfire. The one in Med-bay was Quickshot, as Ironhide had already heard. The other two were Jackknife and Holdout.

Once Ironhide had Crossfire back in his cell, he asked them all, "What in the Pit was all that about last night?"

Crossfire said, "Flatline had this idea we could grab those two idiot twins and trade them back for energon. It sounded like a good idea at the time."

Burnout asked, "What's Prime going to do with us now?"

Ironhide said, "Same thing as Barricade, I guess, keep you out of trouble till the humans get used to you being around. The war's over, and nobody holds you lugnuts responsible for anything. It's up to you whether you want to try keeping it up and get yourselves offlined."

"So it ain't Prime callin' the shots, it's the humans. I told you that's how it was, Striker."

Ironhide said, "We're staying here, so get used to it. But it's like this, as long as aftheads like Lugnut and Blitzwing are running around loose, they're going to keep stirring the humans up and causing trouble for the rest of us. The sooner we bring them in the better for everyone."

Crossfire said, "We never saw them after we got out of the human city. Flatline said his little pal could help us dodge the energon detectors, and that worked. But if he knows where anyone else who got out of there alive went, he never said anything to the rest of us about it. You say you got Cade? He was taking care of sparklings, I don't know where he had 'em hid but they aren't big enough to take care of themselves—"

"Relax, he turned himself in so Ratchet could take care of the kids. They're all OK, they're coming here too," Ironhide told them.

"So what, now the war's over we're all supposed to be best friends or something?"

"Slag, no," Ironhide said. "As far as I'm concerned you're going to have to prove you deserve every privilege you get, and I don't care if you rot in here. But we never have mistreated prisoners and we sure as the Pit ain't startin' now!"

Killstrike said, "Maybe not you, but when your insects want to start experimenting on us again, who do you think Prime's going to give them, one of you or one of us?"

"Nobody's gonna—"

"Use your fraggin' head! They jump, you ask how high. Or where are you gonna go if you don't like it? Sentinel was an aft, but he had one thing right—either you tell the humans what to do, or you listen when they tell you. Till all are one—yeah, right, we are! All mercenaries for the damn squishies. If you don't believe me, wait till they start losin' one of their wars, and watch who they throw in the middle of it. You gonna say no? How?"

"We can leave. The humans got tons of countries, an' each one's different. It ain't like Cybertron, with a planetary government. If this one slags us off, we can go to another one," Ironhide pointed out. "They know we don't fight humans, they got better sense than to ask Prime that."

"So what do you want with us?"

"We don't want anything from you—other than that you stay out of trouble," Ironhide told them. "Anything you do know about where the rest of them went, you'd be doing them and yourselves a favor to tell us before they do something stupid and slag off the humans. If we can keep them from doing that, most of 'em can make a new start."

"Most of us?"

"Well, yeah, Flatline?"

Crossfire said, "Yeah, you don't think he saved it all for blue optics, do you? He was just as likely to experiment on one of us as some Autobot he got his claws on. Nobody's got any use for that glitch, or Hook either if he's still around. Who else is on the kill-first-ask-questions-later list?"

All the others that Ironhide could think of were already confirmed dead. "I don't think there are any more, unless somebot turns up alive that I think is dead right now," he said. "Lugnut and Skywarp are in trouble for being on the loose and dangerous, and I can't see them turning themselves in, can you? But that's up to them. How many more are still on the moon?"

Crossfire said, "There weren't supposed to be any."

Burnout said, "Some of them might not have made it through before the spacebridge shut down, but I thought they all did."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Late the next evening, Prime's group rolled in, weary after two long days on the road.

Diarwen climbed down from Optimus' cab, and stretched, joints cracking and popping as she shook off the stiffness of several hours traveling straight through from Denver. Ironhide came over to report to Prime; Diarwen nodded a bow to him then buckled her sword belt, and slung her bow on her back. Optimus got her rucksack out of his subspace and tossed it to her. She caught it and hitched it over her uninjured shoulder.

Lennox emerged from a deuce-and-a-half as it rolled to a stop. "Gettin' too damn old for this crap," he griped. He greeted Diarwen with a comradely pat on the shoulder before turning his attention to Optimus and Ironhide.

Leaving them to it, Diarwen went to help Jaime and Betony get Sunstreaker unstrapped from the flatbed. The golden twin's complaints were getting louder the longer he had to wait, and Sideswipe's comments about trussed turkeys were not helpful.

The NEST troops poured off the tailgates of the trucks they'd been riding in, and were waiting to get their gear and get assigned to quarters.

Optimus scanned the hangar and contented himself that all the chaos was more or less organized. "Ironhide, what do you have for me?"

"Not much, Prime, the 'Cons who surrendered are playin' dumb. I don't think we're gonna get anything out of 'em till they hear from you that you won't scrap 'em all."

"I can't fault them for that. Let's go put their minds at ease," Optimus replied.

They made their way very carefully through the crowd, the range of their proximity sensors turned up lest some exhausted soldier stumble too close for them to stop in time. Once outside they transformed, Ironhide opened his door for Lennox, and the three of them went to the bunker, where Topspin had relieved Leadfoot on guard duty.

Ironhide went in to get the prisoners, because the bunker was too small for Prime. Five seconds later he figured out what the situation had to look like to the 'Cons. They walked out of their cells and stood side by side in the narrow corridor, the three brothers sharing silent looks that any idiot could translate, and Ironhide was nobody's idiot.

It was how any group of Autobots who thought they were being marched to their deaths would have acted.

And that was when Ironhide stopped thinking of them as "the other side." As soldiers after every armistice since the universe began have always realized about their former enemies, they were—they had always been—brothers in arms.

Roughly, he said, "It ain't what you think—Prime just wants to talk to ya, and the ceiling's too low!"

Not remarkably reassured, they went out onto the desert sand. Topspin stood where he could easily jump between Optimus and any of the prisoners.

Optimus told them, "First let me make sure you understand—you are considered honorable prisoners of war and you will be treated as such for as long as you choose to remain enemy combatants. As long as you make no attempt to escape or to harm anyone, no harm will come to you, and your needs will be met. You will have the opportunity to earn our trust given time, but you already have our respect."

They looked at each other, then back to him. "What do you want us to do?" Burnout asked.

Optimus replied, "It is not necessary for you to do anything. You are defeated enemies and will be treated as prisoners of honor. The war is over. My second has accepted your surrender.

"If you want to see this wrapped up with no further loss of life as much as I do, then help me find the fugitive Decepticons and bring them in. The American President has guaranteed safe passage to this base, and that no harm will come to any Cybertronians who remain within its borders. However, if any continue to maraud human settlements the humans will react precisely as you would expect them to, and it will reflect poorly on all of us. Cooperate, and help me find them before it comes to that."

"Prime, your pardon, but swear all that on the Matrix, and I'll give you my oath right here," Burnout said.

Optimus replied quietly, "I do so swear on the Matrix."

Burnout went to one knee, awkward in his shackles. "I swear on my honor before Primus and the Matrix, owing homage to no living spark, that I will in the future be faithful to the Prime, never cause him harm, and fulfill my warrior's duty to him against all persons in all ways. So has spoken Burnout of Kaon."

Optimus replied, "Before Primus and the Matrix, I accept the fealty of this warrior, to be held in all honor and faith according to my vows as Prime." He turned to Ironhide. "Get those dampers off him."

The weapons specialist did so.

One by one, the others swore the same oath.

Prime then ordered that their short-range comms be restored, and the same as well for Quickshot, who joined his brothers in giving his oath as soon as Jolt certified that he was competent to do so. Prime then made it a formal order, with Lennox as a witness, that none of the parolees were to leave the borders of the base without his express permission.

That was the beginning of a long debriefing session. The ex-'Cons were able to tell them that Flatline had been in contact with someone, but they didn't know who it was. Then they began the long process of identifying the 'Cons who had come through the spacebridge from the moon to Washington DC, and confirming which were still unaccounted for.

Once they were out of earshot of the Cons, Lennox said to Optimus, "No offense—I don't know, that's why I'm asking. How far can we trust them to keep that oath?"

"There is nothing to stop someone from betraying such an oath, but there are always severe consequences for an oathbreaker. No one who was here tonight will have any congress with an oathbreaker, and others among us will shun such as well. And as Prime I will not permit an oathbreaker to attend services. For us, oathbreaking is not like lying under oath in your courts, which seems without effect unless the liar is caught in his lies. It's a stricture of honor, not convenience; while there's really nothing to prevent oathbreaking, we have to start somewhere. Now answer something for me, based on the same lack of direct knowledge. Will, is this base a reservation for my kind?"

"Over my dead body," was Lennox' reflexive answer. "I can't guarantee there aren't people in my government who won't try to make it that, and I think we both know who they are. But I for one am not letting that happen. You have a lot more allies than just me. You know in the long run, though, you need to either become American citizens with all the rights and duties that entails, or find a homeland somewhere. If you form a government in exile here, you'll stay refugees."

"Thank you for your honesty," Optimus said.

"That's the _least_ I owe you," Lennox said.

"You owe me nothing, Will. It was my choice to launch the All-Spark into space that brought our war here."

"And if you hadn't, Optimus? If you'd let the 'Cons get hold of it then? How long before our system became attractive to them as a source of energon? And how many generations would it have taken us to rebel if we were enslaved by the 'Cons? Everything I know about military strategy tells me there's no way you could have kept us out of it entirely, but you did minimize the impact as much as anyone could have."

Lennox stopped to watch the sunset over the weathered rock formations behind the base. The two larger hangars buzzed with activity as the Autobots and his own troops made themselves at home. The street behind the airstrip was well lighted, and his soldiers' families were moving around trekking in and out of the quarters, unloading their cars. Children too small to help were racing up and down the dusty streets, working off the energy of travel-necessitated confinement. It would be a bustling little town by the time the second wave got in from DC.

A town filled with the dependents of NEST, and thereby emotionally bound to the Autobots, as well.

Optimus followed his gaze. He and Will were both honorable souls who fought for their respective peoples—these families, these people who were starting a brand new life here together. He said, "That means a great deal to me, Will. You spoke of finding a homeland. That is not feasible at this point. There are not enough of us. It may be that others will hear my broadcast and gather from far-flung outposts. Do you think your world leaders would tolerate a Cybertronian colony on one of your uninhabited planets?"

"I think it would depend on how you presented it to them," Will replied. "If they don't see a threat to their national interests, then they won't have a problem."

"True."

"Besides, won't it be a few of our generations before you'd be ready to colonize another planet?"

Optimus nodded. "Enough bots would have to arrive to make the endeavor feasible, then we would need to build a ship, find a site, and construct the core of the colony, before it would be in any way liveable. Perhaps fifty years, perhaps longer, as much as a couple of vorns."

"That's eight of our generations. Who knows what politics will look like then? A couple of vorns is nothing for you. Look where my country was two vorns ago: ramping up to the American Civil War. You're in a position to take the long view. Do that, and lay the foundation now."

"Influence your world's politics?" Optimus asked, browplates raised.

"Why not? Everyone else does. In the United States, you can't vote, and you can't contribute money to political campaigns, without becoming US citizens. But as permanent residents, you have rights of free speech. You can support candidates whose views coincide with yours."

"What is your angle here, Will Lennox?"

He grinned. "I do have an ulterior motive, yes. I'm thinking about Annabelle, and her kids, and theirs. A long time after I'm dead and gone, you'll still have a vested interest in _not_ screwing things up because you'll still be living here. Like I said, you take the long view. The human definition of 'the long view' is, what, twenty years, forty years? To us, World War Two was a long time ago. Your perspective is going to benefit everyone. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting we need Daddy ET to come in and fix everything we've ever done wrong—we're responsible for cleaning up our own mess. But I am saying you see things in a way we don't, and having your input as part of the discussion could be to everyone's good."

"Was that not once the case with Diarwen's folk?"

"It should have been, in Western Europe anyway. It probably was, up until that part of the world went collectively nuts during the Inquisition and the Reformation," Will replied. "And look how _astoundingly _well things have gone since then. It's kind of hard to argue against having folks around with a living memory of the last ice age, when there's a good possibility our own ignorance could be causing another one."

"Considering how well my kind have done for ourselves, I think you may be overestimating the wisdom that we have to contribute."

Lennox met his wry tone. "Ever since Qatar, I've figured there was always a better than eighty percent chance we were all screwed. We beat the odds. That took _some_ kind of sense."

"And luck. And the help of Primus."

"Can't beat that combination," Lennox said, with a tired grin. "What _are_ you going to do with those guys?"

"As you have said, your long term is truly not so long. I hope that by the time my people are willing to give them more leeway, yours will have forgotten them."

Lennox nodded. "We have a history of forgiving former enemies, as long as it isn't something personal. That'll happen here."

End Part 12


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

Disclaimers in Part 1

The caravan from DC rolled in the next evening, and once again they had to get a tired, sore, grouchy mech off a flatbed. Three excited little sparklings wanted to tell their guardian all about their trip, in the chirps and squeals that made up Cybertronian baby talk. The Sisters were being meanies and holding onto them tightly, at least until Ratchet got Barricade off the trailer.

Optimus took one of the babies—Skysong—from Flareup. "Where's Sam?"

"Director Mearing kept him in DC with her. He's officially working for us now; she has him shadowing Miss Li to learn his way around. I think it's just a temporary thing until he finds the kind of job he's really looking for, but...Bee brought Carly. Someone needs to help her get moved into their apartment."

::What's going on?::

::You didn't hear it from me, Prime, but Carly's pregnant. They just found out the day before we left.::

_::Oh.::_

::Yeah. Oh. They haven't told their families yet. Sam wants to tell his parents he's working before he tells them he knocked up his girlfriend.::

::None of our business.::

::Absolutely none,:: the femme replied.

::Who else knows?::

::The Director, of course. Bumblebee, and whoever else they might have told. I happened to be within hearing distance when Sam told Bee.::

He very carefully didn't smirk at that. Flareup always knew everything about everyone on base. If she felt insulted, she might not be so quick to share the news. ::They haven't told Ratchet?::

::Not that I know of. Carly had a human healer in DC. I don't know what she'll do here.::

::I'll watch Skysong. You go ahead and help Carly.::

::Yes, Prime.:: She transformed to her alt and sped off to find Bee and Carly.

Optimus watched her go. If that was the kind of drama they were going to have to contend with from now on...he could live with that. He carried Skysong into Medbay to return her to her family.

Jolt and Ratchet were in Ratchet's office going over charts, and Arcee was helping Barricade with the mechlings.

Skysong wriggled to get loose. Optimus held his hand steady for the tiny seekerling to launch herself and glide over to a landing on the berth beside her guardian and brothers. Arcee opened a small cube of energon for her and held it while she drank it down. She wanted more, but Ratchet had them on a strict schedule so they'd get their supplements on time.

Optimus said, "They're looking better."

Barricade nodded. "Growin' like crazy."

Ratchet came out and checked on them. "Who's watching them tonight? I don't want them in here in case Crossfire gets worse. A busy medbay is no place for kids."

Arcee said, "I'll take them, and Flare and I can watch them. Cade, we're in the other hangar, third door on the right. They'll be fine."

He nodded; he knew he could trust the Sisters with them. "They'll probably recharge all night, but if the mechlings are too wound up, wake me after a joor and I'll take them back."

Arcee left with a barely-awake Skysong in her arms, and a mechling perched on each shoulder.

Ratchet gave Barricade a cube of energon, then locked him in one of the private berths for the night. "Give me a ping when you wake up," he said.

"Sure thing," the ex-'Con replied.

Prime bade the two medics good night and left to make a circuit of the base and ensure that there were no serious problems in getting the new arrivals settled.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Over in base housing, Flareup and Carly had inspected Carly's new apartment. Flareup ducked through the door and put a large box in the living room. Bumblebee was stacking everything on the patio, but unlike Flareup he was too big to get into the place.

Carly apologized, "I know it isn't as convenient as when we were in DC."

There was a pause as Bee assembled a sentence from his large library of sound clips. "You—need—to be—here—where—you—are—safe," he told her. "I'm—five minutes—away—in the—commons—if you—need—me. Wheelie—and—Brains—will be—here—if—you—need—to—call—for—one—of—us."

Carly smiled. "Oh, Bee. Try not to worry so much, all right? I'm pregnant, not sick or anything. It's a perfectly natural, healthy condition."

"Sam—worried."

"That's just Sam being Sam. He doesn't like being all the way across the country from me. But we can't help that, now can we?"

Bee smiled. "Lucky—Mearing—had—a vacancy—on—her—staff."

Carly nodded. Since both their jobs had gone up in smoke, it would have been a very awkward conversation with either set of parents if they'd had to announce her pregnancy before one of them found employment. Ron and Judy could be told that Sam was working for NEST. Her parents would simply be told that her fiance was a government employee. She had no intention of going into any detail with people who were rarely home and took days get around to returning a call, if they ever did. It was nothing new, it had started when she had first gone away to boarding school as a child of twelve. They were more nodding acquaintances than family. Her concern was Sam's tempestuous but close and loving relationship with his parents.

She doubted those two free spirits were going to like the idea that they were old enough to be grandparents. But when actually presented with a grandchild, she suspected that they would be over the moon.

That was all of the boxes. Since this place came furnished and Sam was still using their DC apartment it hadn't been necessary to move everything. While Flareup started putting all the boxes in the right rooms, Carly went into the kitchen and began to put things away.

When she came to the tea kettle, she put on some water for a cuppa, then cursed and turned off the hob. She had no decaffeinated tea. Eight and a half more months without a good cuppa? "Sprog, you definitely owe me for this!" She settled for a glass of water.

Flareup ducked through the door. "You're naming your child Sprog?"

"What? Oh, no!" She laughed. "That's a Briticism. It just means 'baby.' Or sometimes 'brat,' but I'm not having a brat."

"Of course not," Flareup grinned. "You're...happy about this, then?"

"Oh, yes. I'd always planned on having children. This is just a bit sooner than I'd thought. Babies never do anything on Mum's schedule, though, this is just par for the course." She laughed. "After all we've been through, this is a wonderful surprise, not a calamity."

"How's Sam taking it?"

"You could have knocked him over with a feather, of course. But you know the Witwickys. They're _all_ about family. He's very anxious to get settled into his job so that we can tell Ron and Judy."

"We are very close to Tranquility. I hadn't thought about that, but you can visit whenever you want. What about your family? I could probably arrange to have them flown over, it might take a while but—."

"Oh, well, thank you, but—they hop on a plane and go wherever they like. Flying in to Las Vegas would be nothing for them. I doubt they will, though. We're...ah...not close."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stick my wheel in anything."

"Don't worry about it. You don't miss what you've never had."

"They're idiots. Forgive me for saying that about your parents, but it's true."

Carly laughed. "I know they are, Flare! At least they aren't being idiots _here. _I've got quite enough to be getting on with, I don't need them underfoot as well."She opened a cabinet door to put in a small stack of dishtowels, then got a pen from her purse to make a shopping list as she went along.

Flareup found a box of dishes and put them into the cabinet that Carly indicated.

They moved quickly through the apartment.

Wheelie asked, "Where do you want us to stay?"

"Anywhere but our bedroom," she said firmly. "That's off limits—if I catch you in there, you're going straight up to the hangars with Bumblebee. You can use the second bedroom for now, though I don't know if you'll want to share with the baby later on."

"Someone has to watch babies, don't they?" Brains asked. "You can't just leave them? Can you?"

"Babies aren't exactly like sparklings," she explained, as she sat down in the living room. "Sparklings seem to need to be within arm's reach of an adult all the time. Human babies spend most of their time sleeping for the first few months. When they're awake and active, they need someone to watch them. But when they're sleeping, we put them into a cot or a crib, so that they'll be warm and safe while they rest. It isn't necessary to be right there in the nursery with them, only nearby. Children can't be left completely alone in the house until they're older, of course."

"Sparklings only need to be with an adult all the time while they're really new, according to Ratchet. After they're a couple of your years older, they can be left in a sparkling berth to recharge without screeching till your audials explode," Wheelie explained.

Flareup asked, "Do you need help with anything else?"

"No, I think we unpacked everything. Thanks for all the help, Flare, I'd have been half the night with it."

She watched her friend drive back to the hangars, then shut the door and checked on Brains and Wheelie. The minibots were using a desk in the spare room as a berth. After climbing up there, they had transformed to their alts, and Brains had his screen closed. Wheelie's headlights were off, but they flickered as she looked in. "Good night, guys."

"G'night, Carly," he said sleepily.

She picked up her phone to call Sam, then realized if it was eleven o'clock here, it was two o'clock in the morning in Washington DC. She dropped the phone back into its recharge slot and got ready for bed.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Once the medbay had settled down for the night, Ratchet examined Quickshot and determined that the former Decepticon was doing much better. He was lucky to be alive, since the Wreckers were shock troops who rarely left an enemy in a condition to be taken prisoner. But he would be back on his peds within the orn.

Jolt asked, "Ratchet, do you have a moment?"

"I guess. Had any energon?"

"Not yet."

The medic got two cubes and passed one to his apprentice, and they made themselves comfortable in Ratchet's office.

Ratchet asked, "What's on your processor?"

"Well, I hope it's nothing. Did you hear about the protest at the Pagan ceremony in the park?"

"Yes, but I heard it didn't amount to anything."

"It didn't. But one of the young people from that church picked the same hiding place as I did when it looked like they'd come to blows with the NEST troops. I had him get in my cab, because I was afraid if they started throwing rocks or something he might be hurt. We talked a little, and he gave me this." Jolt transmitted a scan of the tract he'd been given, which had the church's web site on it.

"That site is, well, one-sided is probably the best thing that can be said about it. However, it linked to some other sites, and they to still others."

"And?" Ratchet asked.

"Well, I think I may have found some references to Diarwen. Look at this drawing. It's from Germany in 1631, shortly after the burning of Magdeburg. Don't you think that's Diarwen?"

"It's a woodcut. It could be anyone," Ratchet said.

"But read the article. It says that during the Protestant retreat, she repeatedly attacked Imperial troops. Why would she get involved with that, to the point that the Catholics were willing to pay her weight in gold to anyone who brought her in?"

"The 'Cons probably would've, too."

"True. But the things they say about her...it just doesn't sound right, Ratchet."

"Calm down, Jolt. If it'll ease your mind, I'll look into it myself when I have time. I doubt it amounts to anything."

"Well, all right," Jolt said, and the issue was put on the back burner.

"How's Sunstreaker been coming along?" Ratchet asked.

"Very well, I think. He wants to begin light duty, and while I told him it would have to be your decision, I think it would be all right for him to work at a desk for a joor a day."

"I agree," Ratchet said, after calling up the front-liner's charts on his data pad. The two healers went over that together, while they finished their energon, then Jolt went off to his berth. As usual when he had patients in medbay, Ratchet recharged in his office.

A few days passed and the base got up to speed. Twenty new human recruits were brought in, and NEST got busy training them. The bots were kept occupied looking for the fugitive 'Cons. Barricade improved enough for Ratchet to put him to work as an aide for a few hours a day.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Barricade said, "No, Skimmer. Come on out."

Starskimmer screamed in displeasure but climbed smartly out of a supply cupboard and onto the proffered servo, gave one last screech, and took off, catching the air columns rising from the desert floor to the arched ceiling.

It was, Ratchet realized, going to be hot as the Pit inside this odd structure—what had Lennox called it? A Quonset hut? Ratchet didn't know who Quonset had been, but the fellow deserved a kick in the skidplates, yes, he did.

A ping from the monitors he had installed into Barricade's systems pulled his helm around, and he watched as the ex-Decepticon, fatigue in every line of his body, pulled the last of six crates into the entrance area of the medbay, closed the door, and then opened the gate between entrance and main area to pull them inside.

Predictably, the three seekerlets swarmed the entrance, and the new toys. What's out there? Why have you shut that door? We want to go out it! What are these? Are they fun? Are they edible? Stormwing fastened his beak into a crate's frame and wrenched a sizable wooden splinter loose, then spat it halfway across the hut. No, not edible.

They might qualify as fun, though, to a tiny seeker who could jump to the top of them, spread his or her wings, catch the thermals to the top of the arch of the Quonset, then spiral down.

Skysong dive bombed Ratchet, spiraling around him twice and finally colliding with one audial, whereupon she inadvertently, to judge from the flaps and squeals, magnalocked herself to the side of his helm.

"Brat," he said, removing her. She made a rude noise, and took off from his palm. "Barricade, time to stop working. Want some energon?"

"It's not that supplement crap, is it?" said Barricade, straightening.

"Just mid-grade," said Ratchet, and tossed him a sealed cube. Barricade opened it, drained it, and threw the empty cube into the recycling bin; three seekerlings promptly followed it through the air and attempted to catch it in mid-flight. Stormy and Song collided with Skimmer, who squeaked a noise that would have made a helium balloon proud, and all three went down in a cacophony of squeals, clanks and shrieks.

Barricade went to one knee beside them, and began to gently untangle three tiny thrashing bodies.

"You know," he said to Skimmer, holding him up to his faceplates, "I used to be a proud Decepticon warrior." Skimmer screamed and flapped free.

The other two were easier to separate. Skimmer seemed to be the glue that held the tiny Trine of Terror together; at any rate, he was always in the center of every brawl, dispute, argument, or other bit of trouble they managed to get into, create, attract, or otherwise manifest.

"Yes," said Ratchet primly, locking the med cage behind himself, "and I really admire your attempt to rise above your origins."

"Go frag yourself, Autobot," his patient said, and threw a seekerlet at him.

Ratchet saw the change of expression on Stormwing's face just before the little one avoided his outstretched servo, folded his wings, performed a midair squiggle that evaded Ratchet's second attempt to grasp him, and clanged into his chest at full speed...then, magnalocked to him, looked up at the stunned medic, and giggled.

Ratchet sighed. He knew that raising a child was not easy; _vide_ Bumblebee. And the Little Twins? At least four times the trouble of a single sparkling. Three kids seemed to generate at least eight times the chaos, and then there was the added seekerlet-factor of winged access to things they shouldn't get into. Yes, his life was not going to be his own for quite a while yet.

Skysong had begun to climb Barricade by hooking tiny claws into the joints between armor plates. Her climbing frame sighed, removed her, and handed her over. "Okay with you if I recharge for a while?"

"Doctor's orders," the medic said. "The berth in the corner? That one's air-cooled."

"Bliss," said Barricade, and went directly to it, scooting Skimmer out the door, to Skimmer's vast and vocal displeasure, and shutting it behind himself.

Skimmer sat outside the door and cheeped, heartbroken, until Ratchet came and picked him up. Then and only then did he decide he'd rather harass Skysong, and he took off from the medic's palm with this plan in mind.

The hatchlings, in the way of the very young, continued their relentless exploration of this new space, taking short flights and poking their tiny seeker-snouts into every nook and cranny not locked to protect its contents. They queued up and whined to be let into the wire mesh-covered meds cage, but Ratchet ignored them after a swift scan to be sure no one had nicked or dinged him- or herself, and continued to set up the emergency area. Wrenches, pliers, line seals...

Skysong began to climb the wire with her taloned feet and hands. Ratchet said, "No," and removed her. She huffed her displeasure, and he set her down, then turned back to what he was doing.

The moment his back was turned, Skysong resumed climbing. Ratchet said, "No, Skysong," and removed her. She shrieked her displeasure, and he set her down, then turned back to what he was doing.

Skysong huffed once or twice, then patiently again began to climb the wire with her talons, pulling the hexagonal wires slightly out of shape. Ratchet said, "No, Skysong!" and removed her, then patted her skidplate, not precisely gently. She shrieked and flapped her annoyance, and he set her down, then turned back to what he was doing.

Skysong looked up at the lovely wire climbing frame, considered getting her skidplate patted again, but decided against it. She jumped to the top of a crate, found a thermal, and used it to dive bomb Ratchet once more.

Ratchet sighed, and began to count sealed bags for the third time.

Convinced that whining would not get them into the tempting space of the wire-enclosed mesh cage, the brothers dispersed. Starskimmer took to the air, riding the currents to the top of the arched ceiling of the Quonset hut, then turning on the point of one wing to spiral back down to the floor and land on Stormwing, who flopped onto his back and gripped his brother's talons tightly with his own. Skimmer couldn't take off with the dead weight, though to give him credit he tried, and tried, and tried. Releasing his own talons did not rid him of his brother's, so instead of landing, he plopped chestplate to chestplate onto Stormy, rolling both of them along the hard floor, whereupon they wailed their little hearts out.

Ratchet, grumbling, stopped what he was doing since he had just lost count for the fourth time, picked Skysong off the floor in front of the meds-cage mesh and magnalocked her to his chest, then went to pick up the other two, squawking and batting at each other with their wings.

Both of them chirr-squealed (Skimmer) or -squeaked (Stormy) at him, and Stormy stroked his little faceplates against Ratchet's hand, then flopped onto his chest and shook his wings at the medic in a seeker display. Skimmer balanced on his outstretched digit then flapped himself around it, to hang upside down, flapping and squawking, until he built up enough air displacement to rise to the top again. Whereupon, proud, he preened.

Skysong seemed already in recharge. Fine; the two mechlings were the circus here.

"For Primus sake," he growled at his handful of seekers, "Look at you two! I can't believe I was ever afraid of either one of you, you silly seekerlings."

"You," said a very unwelcome voice from around his knees, "were afraid of them?"

Ratchet looked down. Diarwen stood in front of him, hands on her hips and a very bright smile on her face, ten minutes early for her shift at hatchling sitting. He'd forgotten about the human sized door at the other end of the Quonset hut.

"Oh, _frag,"_ the medic said. "You're early."

"I should say 'oh frag' indeed," Diarwen said with a grin even broader. "I thought to reacquaint myself with the littles before you left, if they didn't remember me, that they might be content. I did not expect this to be confession time as well. Fear, Ratchet? You are usually on the other end of that equation, causing it instead of feeling it."

"You're early. Fine," the medic snapped. "You can help me feed them. I don't think you'll have much to do after that. They've exhausted themselves exploring the hut, so they'll probably fall right into recharge."

"Sky looks as if she might be there already." The Sidhe grinned at him again.

He looked down at the small seekerlet locked to his chest. "Almost. We'll see if she wakes up to be fed."

Storm waddled over to Diarwen, feeling neglected as only the middle child can, and she was ready with energon. He attempted to lock to her after taking the cube, only to find she was not in the least magnetic. Disappointed, he settled into her lap.

"They really need to lock to an adult, do they not?" she said. "It's a shame they are already too heavy to do that with a human. I can see Epps or Lennox walking around with them."

"Those two still do. The sparklings' mass now is approximately thirty-five kilos—Skysong is closer to thirty."

"That is only about the same as a full pack. Any of the NEST agents must be able to carry that in order to pass their physical."

"Packs don't wriggle," Ratchet pointed out, which Diarwen had to concede. He went on, "I may ask Ironhide and Chromia to step up for this part of their raising. They'd enjoy that, I think."

"So would Optimus." The Fae stroked Storm's helm once more, and he gave a sleepy chirr, then settled more comfortably in her lap. "But Ratchet: we will talk about your secret. Some other time, most likely."

"No, we won't."

"Oh, yes we will, or I shall speak of it with others." She grinned at him. "Optimus knows already, I should imagine. He will keep your secret. But Ironhide? Or Chromia? Or Sideswipe?"

Ironhide and Chromia would make his life a misery with teasing, but he would survive that. Sideswipe...he did not even want to think about what might result from the silver skater's knowledge of his "confession." Pranks from here to his next sparking-day and beyond. And once Sunstreaker was involved, his life would not be worth living.

"All right," he growled. "You win." Sky had taken enough to fill her little belly and dropped right back into recharge. "Here," he said. "See if you can pick her up and lock her to my back. That way I can still work, and hatchlingsit too.—What are your terms, madam?"

She carefully got out from under Storm, and took the heavy baby from Ratchet with a grunt. He pivoted on his skidplate—it was called that for a reason—and she managed to hold Sky up to his back. Then magnetism kicked in, and the little one was secure.

"I'll have to think about my terms, Ratchet. I am inclined to say that you and I must have our various high-grades together, and you will talk to me about how and why you have come to fear seekers, even tiny ones.—Do you want the other two placed on your back as well? If that were so, they could sleep, and perhaps I could help you finish what you've begun here."

"Can you reach that high and still support them?"

"Perhaps if I stood on a crate, and you handed them to me?"

"Very well. Let's try it."

It worked. She worked too, and the result was that Ratchet got his medbay set up before he expected to. He didn't need to keep Diarwen for her full shift, and she went off to see if someone else needed help.

Or perhaps if they needed to be threatened, or blackmailed. He had not seen that coming, and resented it. He was usually better at reading humans than that.

But then, Diarwen was not human.

A joor later, Barricade woke and pinged him; he sent the code that opened the door of the ex-'Con's berth room. They shared a companionable cube together, after which healer and patient, with a minimum of conversation, completed the work Diarwen was too small to accomplish.

So that settled that, Ratchet thought with satisfaction, settling into his berth that night. All that was left was having that pesky conversation with the Sidhe.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Diarwen said nothing else to Ratchet about her threat for a couple of days. Even if she had blackmailed him into the conversation in the first place, she didn't want to back him into any corners about what he was going to say to her. By giving him time to think about it, she hoped he would let go of just enough of his secrets to release his fear. But he had time to decide what he was willing to share and what he wasn't.

That evening, after the sparklings were asleep and a minor problem with Crossfire had been resolved, Diarwen pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of her bag. "I think now is as good a time as any, is it not?"

"I hoped you'd forgotten," Ratchet growled. He got a cube of high grade out of his desk and they went just outside the medbay, enjoying the cool of the evening. Ratchet sat on the concrete apron, and Diarwen perched on an empty crate.

She could feel a mild tingle as Ratchet scanned to be sure no one else was in the area. He opened the cube and knocked back a generous slug as he organized his thoughts. "Do you know anything about seekers?"

Diarwen said, "Very little, I am afraid. I know their city was called Vos, but that's all I know about it."

"It was the city-state of the seekers. Well, they were the rulers, from their eyries on the cliffs and atop their towers, places unreachable by grounders unless a seeker brought them there. There were grounders in Vos, lower caste workers, casteless slaves. I grew up in a client town of Vos, an energon refinery that produced the finest aviation-grade energon on Cybertron."

"There were no low-caste seekers?"

"No. The originals were all warrior caste, so a seeker was either a warrior, or casteless—there were a few of those. The infighting between the winglords and their households was incessant. The losing trines were sometimes made outcasts."

"It sounds like Rome in its heyday."

Ratchet paused long enough to review Rome's history and various political practices on the web. "In a way, I suppose it was. There wasn't an empire. Their great rivalry was with a city called Tarn."

"Ratchet, I am at a loss here as to what that has to do with our three little ones."

"Humans have a continuing debate about how much of an influence genetics has on behavior. How much is inborn in them, and how much is learned in early childhood."

"Yes."

"They have DNA. We have spark-level programming. Sometimes, in purpose-built mecha, the spark-level programming can be _very_ strong. Seekers were built for the sole purpose of exploring the galaxy and discovering new sources of energon for the Original Primes. They were usually sent out in groups of several trines to do that."

Diarwen nodded. "And their spark-level programming supported that...?"

"I don't know for sure, Diarwen. I've never had an opportunity to study that code. There's one thing that can't be denied. _All_ of the seekers went over to Megatron. Every. Single. One."

"A...flock mentality? Where their leader went, the rest followed? And...that was Starscream."

"I believe that to be what happened."

"Is the same thing true of other bonded groups? The Triplets do not follow Chromia in that way."

"And that's the difference between a gestalt and a trine. Gestalts come to a consensus, so quickly that the rest of us can't tell the difference—twins do that also. A trine always has a leader and two followers. In this case, Skimmer is clearly the leader. But he'd be subordinate to any other seeker out there. And if there are any survivors, they're 'Cons. I don't believe their core programming would give them any choice except to fall in with the flock," Ratchet said.

"But they imprinted on Barricade, not their parent trine." Diarwen sipped her drink thoughtfully.

"Maybe that will be enough when Blitzwing shows up again."

"I thought core-level imperatives were...immediate reactions, like reflexes. Can you make a choice against a core imperative when there is no immediate matter of life and death?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. Why did none of the seekers defect when Megatron's madness became apparent?"

"Fear for their trine mates? It is a hard enough thing to switch loyalties, but when there are two other lives involved, that complicates things immensely."

"That could be part of it. But we've brought those seekerlings here, and everyone is attached to them. Right now, they're just like any other sparklings. But not all their innate programming has unpacked. We don't know what's going to happen down the road when it does."

"No, we cannot know what is going to happen down the road," Diarwen said. "It may be that they have a congenital defect that will affect their mental function, cause them to take actions counter to their own free will, when they are older. That is what you are saying, is it not?"

Ratchet hesitated. "….It is."

"Then treat them as you would any other sparkling who might have such a defect. Don't be afraid to care about them. Just be prepared to protect them from themselves, to protect others from them, and them from others, should the defect manifest. And _should_ it manifest, try to find a cure. Where am I wrong in this?"

They drank in silence for a while. Ratchet finally said, "The only place you're wrong is the part about a cure. You can't change spark level programming. It is what it is. The only thing you can change is how you express it."

"If they must either lead or follow, then teach Skimmer to lead. Or encourage him to focus on Optimus—Starscream followed Megatron."

"Sorta. Not a good example. He was a treacherous glitch." Ratchet took another drink. "Tried to kill Megatron a couple of times. Don't know why Megs kept him around. Heard they were berth mates. Might've been true."

Diarwen followed. "It could be that Starscream was a treacherous glitch because that is what his society brought him up to be." She took too large a drink of the bourbon and winced as it burned all the way down, then took another sip to ease the pain.

"Point," Ratchet admitted. "Anything they wanted they got. Thought the world revolved around 'em."

"The sparklings aren't going to be like that."

"No. Don't want 'em to get messed up by something they can't help," Ratchet said.

Diarwen said, "If it is possible to work around such a thing, we will find a way for them to work around it. Or, if Blitzwing is the problem, that could be remedied as well."

"Yeah, that could be," he agreed.

"Blitzwing is...damaged...himself. Unpredictable. Would that not make him a poor choice of leader? How do they decide?"

"Ehhh, in the old days it was the highborn houses. When there was more than one contestant for winglord, then the houses would fight it out till one came out on top."

"So it was _not_ absolute. If one feels inferior to another, then he submits, but challenges a rival seen as an equal."

"Makes sense."

"Still...it does not explain why you are afraid of them."

"They'd come to buy high-grade, stay to drink it...you didn't want to be around when a bunch of spoiled highborns got overloaded. Bunch of them decided to play pass-the-grounder. One of 'em missed. I fell...a long ways."

"How old were you when this happened?"

"Still a sparkling."

"What a horrible experience. I am...sorry if I seemed to make light of it."

"They're no bigger'n my servo. Wha' kinda mech's afraid of that?"

"Someone with cause to be," Diarwen said.

"It was the bots who took care of me in the hospital that gave me the idea to become a healer."

"Sometimes good can come out of terrible things. Not _right_ for such a thing to happen, but...you have saved many lives."

"Coulda been worse. Coulda landed on my helm."

"This is true." She examined her bottle. "This is good. Is not _uisge beatha,_ though."

"What's that? Whisky what?"

"Is the name of...something like this...only made from barley rather than corn in Tir nan Og. The Scots say it whisky and make something...almost like it." She took another generous sip. "Is close enough."

End Part 13


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14

Disclaimers in Part 1

The next morning, Diarwen tried to wash away her hangover in the shower. Her effort was without success, but at least she no longer smelled like a brewery. She fixed a cup of willow bark tea, liberally laced with honey to cut the bitterness, and sipped it slowly, head pounding and stomach roiling, then she dressed in her usual BDUs and pulled on a pair of gloves before going over to the commons.

Lennox had asked her, two days before, to help him train new troops: take the part of a Pretender. She did not feel up to leading twenty eager recruits a merry chase through the badlands around the base, but since no one had made her drink in the first place, she kept her complaints to herself. Her ability to disappear behind her glamours, as well as her general skills at stealth, stalking, and hand-to-hand combat, came close to duplicating the abilities of the small 'Cons. Like the recruits, she was armed with a paintball gun.

These were not green troops just out of boot camp; NEST recruited from the US Army Rangers. She had nothing but respect for them. They might not be able to see through her cloak, but they could and did track her. The exercise called for all her skill and concentration. By the time Lennox called a halt a few hours later, her headache, never really having gone away, had returned full force. She dropped her glamour and joined Lennox, forcing herself to pay attention as he and Ironhide critiqued the exercise.

She had never been so glad of anything as she was when they went back to base, even if it did mean a five mile run—the NEST troops' second of the day.

The very thought of food turned her stomach, but she had not eaten anything yet. The mess had pizza and pasta today; she got some spaghetti and put very little sauce on it. She barely had time after that to take yet another shower before she went to medbay to take her shift watching the sparklings.

Sideswipe had somehow managed to zig when he should have zagged while sparring with Prime, and ended up being carried back to the hangar with his knee and ankle bent at wrong angles. When Ratchet yelled at him for general stupidity, Sunstreaker's reflexively flared field and bristled armor threatened retaliation for any attack on his injured twin, thrown wrench or otherwise.

Prime's stronger fields poured oil on the waters, and Ratchet went to work on Sideswipe's leg. Diarwen took the Tiny Trine outside to play in the shade between the two large hangars. They soon learned for themselves that the afternoon sun made their thin armor unpleasantly hot, but that if they stayed in the shade, zooming through the air cooled them nicely. The Little Twins had attached a cargo net to a pole for them to climb. They could be happy for hours climbing to the top and jumping off to glide back to the sand.

Barricade woke from his Ratchet-ordered midday recharge, and came out to help her with them. Instantly he was swarmed by little seekers.

They were honored to hear Skysong's first word: a joyously squealed "Cade!"

Diarwen would never betray to anyone what the warrior's aura revealed at that moment.

Even if they were confined by the desert heat to the shady spot where they played, the sparklings could never get enough of flying in the open air. When Jolt came out to tell them Ratchet had finished up with Sideswipe and the Big Twins had gone back to their quarters, it took quite a bit of doing to round them up. Jolt proved how precise and gentle he could be with his magnetics, when he wrapped an energy whip very carefully around Skysong and reeled her down from the roof. He was surprised when she flew to the back of his helm, energy whip and all, and magnalocked herself there, giggling.

All three had collected sand under their armor. Barricade got out their washtub and filled it with gentle solvent.

Unlike the humans, who used that to clean just about anything, Diarwen got a rash if she got it on her skin. Staying dry was fairly unlikely, with the sparklings happily splashing in their bath. While Barricade and Jolt bathed them she put on rubber gloves and busied herself fixing their snacks. They had started to fuss and whine about the supplement-laced energon. They would, however, cheerfully nibble rust sticks with those same supplements in them.

After the three of them had finished their snacks and gone down for a nap, Barricade was allowed to go out in the commons for a while, with Jolt and Bumblebee guarding him. Chromia joined them as they left medbay. Barricade's care for the sparklings had won over the eldest of the Sisters; Diarwen knew that meant the rest of the Autobots would not be far behind in accepting the former Decepticon.

They had watched _Avatar_ a few days ago; if Optimus was their little clan's Olo'eyktan, Chromia was its wise Tsahik. And Diarwen? She must be some storm-blown Dreamwalker, taken into this odd hometree in the middle of the desert.

Ratchet interrupted that flight of whimsy. "Diarwen, if you have a moment, could you join me in my office?"

"Of a certainty," she replied.

Ratchet gave her a lift to his desk; on it lay a datapad. He activated the pad. She crossed to look down at it.

On it was a 17th-century woodcut illustration of Diarwen herself, standing over a sleeping monk with her sword in hand.

"The text that accompanies this states that in late May of 1631, a female known only as _die Teufelin Weiss_ entered a camp of the Army of the Holy Roman Empire and killed twenty men in their sleep. Were you that female?"

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I was. Will that be all?"

"I suppose it will be, yes."

"Good afternoon, then, Ratchet."

She walked to the edge of his desk, and before he could move to assist her, jumped lightly to the concrete floor, and walked out of the office with her head high and her aura tightly controlled.

As if nothing at all in the world were wrong, she stopped for a moment to look in on the little ones, then she left the medbay by way of the human's door.

Ratchet looked down at the floor where she had landed. A spiderweb of cracks extended out from her landing point, mute testimony to the amount of energy that she had just grounded there.

Suddenly Ratchet was _very_ glad he had phrased his question in the way he had, quoting someone else's accusation rather than making one in his own right.

Diarwen paid little attention to where she was going until she was well away from the hangars, up in the canyons. The hot sun beat down on her but she barely felt it. Her skin burned from a different heat, eyes stung from smoke which had risen from a burning city nigh on four hundred years ago.

Numbed by a horror she had thought long past, she stood at the edge of a cliff, her hair and clothing whipping in the hot desert wind.

After enough time had passed for the shadows to lengthen, she heard wheels on gravel, then the sound of transformation. "Diarwen?"

"Optimus," she replied.

"What's wrong?" He closed the distance between them, but stopped in time enough not to crowd her.

Diarwen turned to face him, and he saw that her silver-gray eyes brimmed with tears. He knelt and offered his servo.

She stepped onto his palm and he lifted her to his chest, held her so very gently to him. She leaned into him, and asked, her voice muffled against his chest plates, "What...do you know of the Siege of Magdeburg, Germany, in 1630 and 1631?"

After a brief pause, he replied, "Only what I just now read on Wikipedia," he admitted. "The...Thirty Years' War?"

"A conflict between the Calvinist Protestants in the north of Europe, and the Catholic nations in the south," she replied. "You recall that I mentioned to you the Wars of the Reformation, and that I was involved in it, on the side of the Protestants."

"Yes."

"This was a part of that larger conflict. I was there to avenge my people. Neither side was in the right in that war. If either side had found out what I really was, they would all cheerfully have cast me to the flames, one side as quickly as the other. But von Falkenberg and von Brandenburg, two Calvinists, were quick to accept the services of a spy. The highborn contested for land and power, with the commonfolk caught between. Whether they were Catholic or Protestant depended for the most part on who controlled the area where they lived. Magdeburg was Protestant. They held out bravely through a months-long siege, but in the end, the city fell to a massive bombardment. This was on the twentieth of May.

"There were thirty thousand people in Magdeburg, Optimus. I was one of the last to escape, one of only five thousand. They put the garrison to the sword, then they set fire to the city and embarked upon a merciless rampage of looting, and rape, and torture, and slaughter. They threw the burned bodies of twenty-five thousand of the people of Magdeburg into the Elbe River for two weeks. For _two weeks_ the river floated thick with the corpses of men, women, _children_. It was...all that we saw in Chicago, and...and worse. The Decepticons at least killed quickly and cleanly, for the most part.

"Five thousand escaped into the countryside—which was itself scoured by the months of war. I was among the last to leave. There was no food, no shelter, no help for the survivors. That would have been bad enough, but those bastards hunted them like animals. I have no idea how many of those mad dogs I put down. They came to call me '_die Teufelin Weiss'_—the White Shedevil. And by the Gods, they feared me. They feared me enough to call the Inquisition from Rome to put a stop to this woman who dared spoil their sport.

"I put a stop to _them_. And I left a note on the body of the Inquisitor telling Pope Urban that I was coming to Rome for him. I'd no intention of any such thing, of course, I was not fool enough to think I could take on Rome singlehandedly—but I had to lead the Inquisition away from Magdeburg. The people had suffered enough, I would not bring that scourge down on them as well.

"I returned to Ireland, and then a few years later I came to America and made a new start here. But, by the Mother, Optimus, I still hear the people of Magdeburg screaming.

"Today, Ratchet asked me if I was _die Teufelin Weiss_, and he wanted to know if I had killed those men. Well, I did. Tell me, Optimus, am I guilty of twenty counts of murder for my actions that night?"

"No more so than any of my spies who took covert action to kill the enemy," Optimus told her. "You did your duty."

"I _failed_ in my duty, and thousands of innocents paid the price."

He surrounded Diarwen in his fields, knowing she would read his honesty in them, and take comfort from his presence. "There are always going to be those you cannot save." _Iacon City._ "You don't bear the responsibility for every defeat." _Praxus_. "You were one sword against an army, Diarwen. You have to think about the five thousand that you _did _help save." _Magdeburg_.

"You...are wise, my friend. There are times that I realize how alone I am...and it all closes in on me. Today was such a time."

"You are not alone. Not while I live."

Her tears finally spilled, and she let herself sink into the cocoon of his fields. No one had comforted her in that way in so very long.

Optimus said, "I'm going to have a little talk with Ratchet, about passing judgment before he has all the facts."

Diarwen scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes. "Ach...the least said, the soonest mended. Ratchet is a soldier. I hope he will figure out what I did, and why I did it, eventually, after he thinks about it for a while."

Optimus rumbled agreement. "As you wish, but I won't tolerate a repeat of this kind of accusation, any more than I would if it were leveled against anyone else here."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Letting me cry all over you. I am not usually some weepy maiden in need of rescue."

"I don't see you that way. No one can stand alone, as you've had to for too long. Diarwen, you said that Ratchet is a warrior, and he is a very brave one when he has to be. But he is better at saving lives than taking them, Primus bless him for it. He is no covert operative, nor has he commanded them. He doesn't understand the demands and realities of that life. He is in no place to criticize you for killing those sent to kill you, those who took pride in those twenty-five thousand beatings, and rapes, and tortures, and deaths—and that before they could start rounding up scores of innocents they suspected might know your whereabouts. You do know that you had no choice but take the fight to them?"

"I know," she replied. "Still, it is not easy to hear 'murderer' implied, or to be accused of it for standing in defense of those who could not defend themselves."

"No. That isn't easy. Nor, I imagine, was it easy to walk away from the accusation. Thank you for doing that."

"Ach, there were babies sleeping in the next room, what else was I to do?" Her tears had stopped, leaving her feeling little besides old and bone-weary. She wished she had saved the drinking for tonight, a few pints would have done her good—but she wasn't so far gone as to drink herself half blind two nights in a row.

Optimus decided it was time he gave Barricade and the sparklings permanent quarters of their own. As long as Cade passed the Chromia test, few others would object. That would help separate Diarwen from Ratchet, if she could sparkling-sit somewhere other than medbay. And the sparklings clearly needed better accommodations.

That could wait. For now, they went back to base together, as another day drew to its quiet close.

The End


End file.
